


Love Me Forever

by Aloemilk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After the battle of Hogwarts, Angst, Battle of Hogwarts, Canon Compliant, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2018-06-05 23:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 187,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6727813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aloemilk/pseuds/Aloemilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are not easy for Ron and Hermione right after the Battle of Hogwarts. They need each other badly, but forced and rash decisions bring them apart. Will they find their way back to each other? This story is a different take on the Summer following the end of the war. It begins moments before Deathly Hallows ends and continues over the following months. WARNING: Read the Author's Notes for detailed trigger warnings!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. As the Battle Ends

**Author's Note:**

> This story begins a few moments before Deathly Hallows ends, and then it follows a very detailed, almost day-to-day format. I have several things to say about this story, but I’ll start with the most crucial information: this story is going to be quite angsty for many chapters and it contains some sensitive themes. Although I don’t believe this current chapter requires any specific warnings, some of the future chapters will include the following trigger warnings:  
> tw: graphic description of a decomposing body  
> tw: suicidal ideation  
> tw: panic/anxiety attacks  
> Each chapter will have a note with the specific tw that applies to it, but I thought I’d let you know what is to come right now, before you start reading. I hope it doesn’t diminish anyone’s enjoyment; I wrote the story this way because I thought it necessary for the plot and for my view of what would happen between my Ron and Hermione if things had gone this way for them.  
> I posted another version of this chapter for last year’s HP Shipping Weeks on Tumblr, which showed how things might have gone differently in this chapter if they had actually held hands after Ron invited Hermione to go walking with him. But in this chapter he didn’t, and here we are…  
> This story is soooo important to me. I’ve been writing it for over a year now and I’m currently editing the first version of chapter 18. Deciding to post it today came not without a struggle, because even though I recognized how fitting it was to post it today on the Anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, I’m extremely nervous about it—what if nobody likes it? What if nobody reads it? I’ve invested so much time and creative juice into it that I’m really afraid of its reception. Still, I /am/ posting it, so I hope you enjoy it!  
> Thanks soooo much to Jenahid for being an awesome beta, and to Otterandterrier for being the bestest second reader ever. Your editions and comments have helped me make this story better than it would have been without all your time, help, suggestions, and comments, and I appreciate each one of them!  
> Because this chapter is not reaaally completely new, I’ll be posting the 2nd chapter later today or early tomorrow. After that, I’ll be posting a new chapter as I have time to give them a final read and prepare them for posting. Don’t worry, 18 chapters are already written and waiting! The rest will be all about timing…

The war was over. They had won. Who would have thought that Voldemort, one of the most powerful wizards to ever exist, would die with such a lack of... of something big happening, like trumpets playing from the sky? Like in those movies Hermione liked to watch, with music that kind of hinted to the way you were supposed to feel. They needed something that would push them to explode and celebrate and make his death have more of an impact. He had only had the opportunity to watch a movie with her once, but the music had stayed with him. Instead of tense music that became triumphant, Voldemort had simply fallen to the floor like a marionette that was suddenly abandoned for another more entertaining toy. Not that it prevented them all from understanding that it was done, that Harry had conquered and had freed the Wizarding World from its biggest menace in history. Specky wanker. Ron loved the git, though. He had to find him, and help him to get away from the noise and the people that Ron was sure were driving him mental. But first...

Again, he imagined that were this a movie, there should be some sort of sad, tragic music in the background as he went looking for his family. He had been there when Fred... when that had happened to Fred, yet he couldn't quite come to grips with it. Although deep down he knew Fred was gone, his mind and his heart were still disbelieving.

Ron found most of them together at one of the long tables that everyone was sharing. His mother was trying to get George to drink some tea; Ron briefly wondered where she had gotten it. He stood next to Ginny, and she nodded at him, acknowledging his presence. "Where's dad? Percy and Charlie?" he asked.

"They're taking Fred home. Have you seen Harry?"

"No. I'll go looking for him in a minute."

Ginny nodded and then they both became silent, apparently with no more words to say to each other.

Ron didn't need to ask how George was doing. He knew all of his family was as devastated as he himself felt, and he could only imagine George was doing the worst for it. Still, he looked for his brother, and felt horribly guilty to realise that he was hoping to see Fred in his features.

Ron quickly looked away to his mum, not ready to deal with all of that just yet. She was moving to receive a cup of tea that was being offered to her. As his mum's body moved out of the way, he saw that it was Hermione who was bringing tea to her, obviously trying to help somehow.

He felt the air being knocked out of his lungs, but wasn't surprised to feel it. He was almost used to it, feeling like his chest stopped working anytime he saw Hermione suddenly like that. Yet even that didn't compare to the shock he had felt when Hermione had kissed him. Could it be, that after all this time, after all the hope and doubts and longing they would finally get together? For good? When he thought of how it felt to have her pouncing on him that way, he dared to hope that she would stay with him and love him forever.

He was staring at her, and he knew it. She must have sensed it somehow, because she lifted her gaze and locked eyes with him. She gave him a tiny, sad smile, and after getting his mum to hold the cup she was offering, started walking towards him.

"Hey," she said, standing close to him.

"Hey," he replied, looking at her. Soot stained her face in different places, although it looked like she had tried to clean a bit of it. Her hair was singed, making it look asymmetric and even messier than usual. "How are you doing?"

Hermione looked around, and he almost regretted asking as her eyes became really sad. "I'm alright," she finally said, in a tone of voice that clearly showed she was, but barely.

Ron wanted to hug her, to comfort her, and to gain just that from her. Still, he didn't want to assume things, get comfortable and reach for her, until he had had the opportunity to talk to her and do things properly. He had cocked up enough already, and had been lucky that she had forgiven him. He didn't want to try his luck and cock it up yet again, though, so he had to make sure that the kiss had meant what he was hoping for. He was dearly hoping that it hadn't been something spontaneous that didn't really mean much to her.

He cleared his throat, bringing her attention back to him. "Come with me? I'd like to... uhm, that is..."

Ron hated that words had failed him. If he couldn't even ask her to go _walking_ with him, how could he hope to say anything else? Still mad at himself, he gave up and simply gestured with his head that he'd like to go somewhere else.

She nodded and they went away from the group. Walking next to each other, he almost missed the way her little finger had slightly touched his hand in passing. Suddenly, all of his attention was directed at the short distance that separated their hands. He tried not to show it, but he was desperately trying to decide if he could take her hand. It was something simple, something even good friends could do without it meaning much, but he felt that after the kiss it could mean a lot more. Ron imagined that maybe it was safest if she did it first; if it was her choice instead of his assumption. He tried to casually let his fingers touch her hand, as if reminding her that he had those long fingers at the end of his arm and that she could grab them, if she wanted...

 _You're a coward, Weasley_ , he told himself as he fought the disappointment and first tinge of doubt appearing in his gut when she did not hold his hand. "Should we sit here?" he asked, pointing at an empty section at the tables and trying to not think of everything that could go wrong.

"Sure," she said, and they sat down next to each other.

Ron was nervous. He put his traitor hands flat on the table, moving them back and forth, feeling the wood's texture for the first time. The planks were covered in dust and small pieces of debris from the battle. He blew on the old wood, trying to clean a bit of it.

Hermione laughed beside him. "Really, I think it's going to take a bit more than that to clean this place," she said.

"We have to start somewhere, right?"

"Yes. Cleaning the castle is only going to be the beginning. The whole wizarding community will need help. And I need to go find my parents before I do anything else."

"You should, otherwise the guilt won't let you sleep at night. I remember how difficult it was for you to do it." Ron looked at her, and the troubled look on her face made him push all doubts to the back of his mind. He reached for her hand to offer some kind of comfort, rubbing his thumb on her skin. "Hey, it's alright. It'll be alright. You did it to protect them from a bloody _war._ They'll understand. Now the war is over, innit? You're free to go get them and bring them back. I'll help you."

He was relieved to see her give him a thankful smile. He felt proud to have made her feel better, and he became resolute that yes, he would do anything to help her solve the situation with her parents.

"How are _you_ doing?" she asked after a moment, her hand reaching for something in his hair and dropping it behind them, breaking the contact.

Ron let out a sigh, almost wishing he could block all the feelings and memories that came back with Hermione's question. He was a mix of relief, tiredness, grief, pain, rage, and more. Yet exhaustion was about as much as he was willing to look into at the moment. "I... I need to sleep. You probably feel the same. Don't you?"

"Yes. I'm starving but no feast would be as tempting as if we had access to a bed right now."

Ron looked at her, and a smile crept to his face as he saw her blushing. He knew it was too much to hope, but wouldn't it be delightful if she was imagining them sleeping together? If that was ever to be an option, they had to start proper.

"Hermione... about before..."

"Yes?"

This was the moment. It was his turn to show her--to _tell_ her, dammit, he knew the words were important--that he was madly in love with her and that all he wanted was to kiss her again. He could feel the tips of his ears getting scalding hot; he knew they were getting red and showcasing his nervousness like two lighthouses to the world. _Bloody hell. Bloody_ hell _, talk, you idiot._

"It's me," a voice came out of thin air between them. "Will you come with me?"

Both he and Hermione jumped and stood up, and without uttering another word, followed Harry out of the Great Hall.

In a way, Ron was thankful for the interruption. He realised he needed to prepare the words he wanted to say, or he would muck it all up. That, or he could try to kiss her senseless first so that she couldn't focus on his words anyway. As if...

The three of them walked out of the Great Hall, where Harry removed the Cloak. Ron listened in awe to everything his mate was recounting, making a few simple jokes here and there to lighten up the mood. Finally, they reached what used to be Dumbledore's office, and went up with barely any comments from what was left of the guardian gargoyle. He saw his friend being celebrated by the old paintings, and how he chose to not be the owner of all three Hallows. For one crazy second, he imagined taking the wand for himself, but it took only one comment from Hermione saying Harry was right, for him to see reason and know that he wouldn't want it, not really.

They left the room, and just as Harry announced he was going to sleep, they realised Ginny had found them and was walking to them.

"Ron, Mum is looking for you. She wants to talk about the plans for the following couple of days."

"Alright," Ron replied. "You go to sleep, mate. I'll come find you after and we can go to the Burrow together."

"No, if you all can stay up, I can, too."

Ron rolled his eyes. Even if he couldn't see the way Ginny and Harry were looking at each other, he wasn't fooled as to his real reasons to keep postponing sleep. "Let's go, then."

"Hermione," Ginny commented as they went back to the Great Hall. "Kingsley was looking for you. He looked quite frantic."

"Kingsley? What does he want from me?"

Ginny shrugged. "Beats me. He didn't say."

"Where did you last see him?"

"He was going outside the main doors."

"Alright, I'll go looking for him."

Ron bit on his lip, wanting to go with Hermione but knowing he had to go to his mum first. He saw his friend and sister go in the general direction to his family, but he stood where he was. He looked from Ginny and Harry to Hermione, back and forth a few times, torn between what he needed to do and what he wanted to do instead.

She caught his eyes and gave him a little smile.

"Talk to you later?" she asked, and in her voice he sensed the same kind of dilemma he was facing.

"Yes, we'll talk later," he replied, taking her hand and squeezing it in his. Then saw her turn to go find Shacklebolt, their hands still clamped together as she took a few steps, as if they were reluctant to let go.

 _Next time I see her, I'll kiss her_ , he promised himself, and hurried to catch up with his family.

* * *

 

"Have you seen Kingsley Shacklebolt?"

Hermione had to ask a few people before someone was able to direct her in the right way. She didn't need to walk too far, though, for Kingsley came to her. He grabbed her arms, as if to make sure she was truly there.

"Hermione! Finally, I found you! We don't have much time left."

"Left? What's wrong?"

"You know I've been appointed as temporary Minister, yes?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, his anxiousness making her nervous. The fog on her brain was caused by both exhaustion and a sense of foreboding that made her wish Kingsley hadn't found her.

"We're trying to capture every Dark Wizard that is still free. Many of them are fleeing. We have decided to close the borders."

"What do you mean, close the borders?" She felt a bit slow; she was having problems to make sense of what he was saying. Maybe she should go to sleep instead.

"We have decided to close Great Britain's borders to all magical people. Skilled wizards are working on it right now. I recently talked to the Muggle Minister, and we have appointed trusted Aurors to work with the border security. No magical people will be allowed in or out of Great Britain for at least a month, but it could very well be more than that. Do you know what that means?"

"Yes," Hermione replied. She thought she had finally caught on what he was saying. Air had left her as she heard Kingsley talk, and she had so little air left in her that the syllable had barely been audible.

"Arthur has informed me your parents are in Australia. I assume you need to go get them as soon as possible. I've managed to arrange to take you there right now, but you have to leave right away or it will be too late. I've already wasted precious time looking for you."

Too many thoughts were racing in Hermione's head. Tiredness made it all look blurry, so that she couldn't really focus on any thought. She thought of her parents and her duty to them, she thought of Ron, Harry, and the Weasleys. She thought that maybe she could wait, but then she remembered Ron saying that guilt wouldn't let her sleep at night. She knew he was right. She knew there was something she was missing.

"Hermione, we have to leave _now_. Are you ready?"

 _No, I'm not_ , she wanted to say. What if she failed? What if they disowned her for what she had done?

"I... Ron..."

"I'll let him know. Hermione, you have to make a decision either way. We have to be in the Ministry in three minutes for the first Portkey. After that, it's done."

"Take me to the Ministry," Hermione finally replied, closing her eyes to try to stop the nausea. She told herself she felt so horribly because she wasn't prepared for side-along Apparition, but deep down she knew that wasn't the reason she felt that way. She hadn't had time to prepare for this, to plan, to talk to Ron... Ron. She would miss him, she knew, and as she took the Portkey and felt the familiar whirlwind of traveling that way, she started to wonder if guilt would have been easier to deal with than regret.

* * *

 

Hermione was introduced to the Australian Minister of Magic, a Charles Olcouldron. Apparently, Kingsley had made a point of requesting that she be treated with the utmost care in honour of the English Ministry's gratitude for her service at the war. In practical terms, it meant they had gotten her a room in a fancy hotel, and given her a debit card she could use for anything she needed.

Olcouldron had informed her that he could always be reached through his assistant at any time of the day. They gave her one of those new fancy mobile phones, telling her that a few numbers had been recorded there for her to call to whenever she needed something. She looked at it dispassionately, a black device a bit bigger than a thick pack of playing cards, that opened by a hinge in the middle like some kind of plastic clam.

"Can I go to my hotel room now, please?" she asked, feeling like if she didn't sleep, she would drop dead right there. She was so tired, she almost didn't care.

She barely managed to change her clothes, all the while thinking about how she needed to find her parents fast. The sooner she found them, the sooner she would be able to go back to England and finish that conversation with Ron. The sooner that happened, the sooner she would kiss him again, and honestly, who would blame her for thinking there was no better prize at the end of this Australian task?

* * *

 

Ron caught up with Ginny and Harry just as they reached the table where their mum was. His dad, Charlie, and Percy were back; Bill was there as well, holding hands with Fleur. For a crazy moment, Ron realized that Fleur was the only one who didn't seem to be covered in dust and soot, glowing like she always did. He determinedly looked away, like he had trained himself to do. If he was planning to get Hermione to be his girlfriend, he didn't want to give her any reason to doubt he wanted to be with her. It didn't matter that he no longer felt anything but detached admiration for his sister-in-law; it would not do for Hermione to remember how he had been in the past, drooling over the part-veela like the pathetic ghoul he once was.

"Is Hermione joining us, son?" Ron's dad asked, his voice strained and deep.

"She will, later," Ron replied, not even thinking how normal it seemed that everyone expected _him_ to know everything about Hermione. "Kingsley was looking for her."

"She's not going to Australia, then?" Arthur continued, a confused look on his face.

"She is, of course! She wouldn't just abandon her parents, you know," Ron said, suddenly upset that they could think she would just forget about her parents. Ron noticed that his dad still looked confused, but then gave up on the topic.

"Anyway, you can tell her later, then," Arthur conceded, putting his arm around Molly and squeezing. Ron saw his mum's eyes fill with new tears, and his own heart broke just a little more. "We wanted to discuss what we will be doing in the next few days."

"Molly and I were talking," he continued. "We know we will need to help here. But we also have to think of our family and what we need right now should come first. We're going to let the rest of the family know, but we'll request that they don't come for Fred's-- funeral," Arthur managed, although his voice broke.

Ron looked at the floor, a raspy, thick ball lodged in his throat. It wasn't right. To talk about Fred and funerals in the same sentence made no sense.

"We'll put Fred to rest in the town's graveyard, two days from now. That'll be on Monday. I know I don't need to tell you I hope everyone will be there.”

"Harry, dear," Molly took over for her husband. "We also wanted to let you know that we've talked to Andromeda. They will bury Tonks and Remus at the cemetery where their family has been buried for generations. She asked me to let you know that the funeral will be tomorrow Sunday evening, in case you want to assist."

"I will," Harry declared solemnly.

"You can go to Andromeda's house tomorrow around two in the afternoon. You can go with them to the cemetery."

"Alright. Thanks for letting me know," he added almost as an afterthought, and his voice showed a bit of the awkwardness that Ron was so used to hearing in his friend's tone.

Ron would have to have a talk with his friend, almost like it wasn't a talk, as he had learned it was the only way to get him to actually listen. Knowing his friend as he did, Harry was probably starting to feel guilty about everyone who hadn't made it through the battle. Ron would definitely have to get it in his head somehow, that he couldn't blame himself.

"We should get some rest," Molly continued. "Arthur and I will go home, but you can either stay here or come home with us. After sleeping for a few hours, those who went home with us can come back here to the castle to help. It's up to you, but we would like to have you all with us by tomorrow, Sunday, in the evening. We want to be together. Say goodbye to Fred properly."

Again, they all fell silent. Maybe it was that everything that needed to be said had been said, but Ron knew the truth. They couldn't talk, because they were all afraid that by talking they would have to admit that Fred was really gone.

"George, will you come with us, son?" Arthur softly asked, taking him by the arm. George didn't resist. He didn't say anything. He looked like he was Imperiused, like he had no will at all.

Ron couldn't witness it without wanting to scream, so he decided to distract himself instead.

"Harry? What are you doing, mate?"

Harry, who was also looking at George, turned to Ron too. Ron thought that maybe he wanted to escape from imagining what George might be feeling like, as well. "I'll stay here. I'll go to sleep at the Gryffindor tower."

"Alright. I'll meet you there. I'll try to find Hermione first."

"Yes, you do that," Harry countered, the ghost of a smile on his face. Ron didn't need him to say what he was thinking. Harry had seen Hermione kissing him, in any case.

"Wanker," Ron said, returning the smile, and left him with Ginny.

Ron walked aimlessly, trying to use his height to his advantage. He felt like he could recognize Hermione's hair anywhere, and tried to spot her from his vantage point. After a little while, he figured he could also look for Kingsley, since he should have been with her not long ago.

Soon, Ron's head was foggy with tiredness and hunger. He picked up a few sandwiches he saw on one of the tables; he ate three quickly as he walked and saved the rest for Harry and Hermione. He kept looking for her, imagining what would happen if he casually kissed her when he found her. If she was as tired as he was, she would either kiss him back because she wanted to or because she was too tired to fight it. She did kiss him once by surprise, so he was entitled to one of those as well, wasn't he? They could talk when they woke up.

After an hour, Ron felt like he was going to pass out from sheer exhaustion. Still, he didn't want to go to sleep without knowing where Hermione was. He was thinking that maybe she was sleeping in what used to be her bed, and so he should figure out a way to go up there, when he saw Kingsley.

"Hey! Kingsley!" Ron waved in his direction.

The wizard turned to Ron when he heard his name, and gave him a nod to indicate he had seen him. Ron walked to him, and with no preambles asked after Hermione. "Hey, have you seen Hermione?"

"Yes, I took her to the Ministry. I told her I would let you know, so I'm glad you found me."

"Ministry?" Ron asked, confused. Was he _so_ tired he was hearing things?

"Yes. We closed the borders so no magic people can come in or out of Great Britain. Your dad told me Hermione needed to travel to Australia, so I managed to take her there before she got stuck here."

"You took her to _Australia_?" Ron countered, angry and dubious. Somehow, he was imagining Shacklebolt taking her against her will.

"Well, yes, it's what she wanted, no? It was either going now or waiting for a month, so she went now. She should be back as soon as the borders are open again. We expect that to happen sometime in June."

" _June_?" Ron repeated, incapable of properly understanding all that the man was saying.

"Yes," Kingsley replied, patiently. "Look, I can see you're about to drop on your feet. Why don't you go to sleep? Arthur knows what's going on, you can ask him more tomorrow. I'm afraid I expect to be incredibly busy during the next few days and weeks, trying to stop Dark Wizards from fleeing while trying to get some sort of Ministry working properly again."

"Sure, thanks," Ron finally said, barely registering the way Shacklebolt had squeezed his shoulder before going away.

Ron looked at the sandwiches in his hands, weirdly noticing how they were coming apart. Ron tried to keep them in one piece as he walked to his old room, arriving there to realise Harry was snoring, already deeply asleep.

Ron left the sandwiches on his best mate's bedside table, and then lay down on his own bed.

His body was buzzing with exhaustion and confusion, still unable to fully grasp the idea that Hermione had gone to Australia without him. His last thought was how unfair it was, that he had to fall asleep like this, without the kiss goodnight that he had been longing for.


	2. The Next Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Graphic description of a decomposing body in the last section (Ron’s POV). Be careful reading that section if this topic is a trigger for you.

Hermione didn't open her eyes when she woke up. She felt groggy and had a bit of a headache. She could see sunlight through her eyelids, though, so she knew that she had slept all the night through.

She moved around in the soft bed, enjoying the luxury of what probably were 5000 thread-count sheets. They could be silk for all she knew, they felt so soft. The contrast was stark with the old, ratty fabric of her pajamas, which she had rescued from her beaded bag the night before. She remembered barely managing to stay awake long enough to change clothes, to finally collapse in a heap on the bed. She had woken up at some point, needing to drink water with urgency. She had had a few glasses of water and returned to bed, falling asleep seamlessly, like she had never woken up.

She felt so strange. She had had such a clear purpose for what it felt like so long, that she had never allowed herself to stay in bed for any longer than she had to. Right now, though, her purpose was different. As she remembered why she had taken that series of Portkeys the night before, her mind started to work properly, to be truly awake. Like she used to do before the war, she took a few minutes to plan her day; to decide what she would do with the hours she had in front of her.

Her parents. She was in Australia so she could find her parents, fix their memories, and take them back to England. First step, then, was to take a long, long shower, and then get ready to go find them. She knew their address by heart. She had rented their place from England before using the charm on them, so that she would know exactly where they were when the time came to find them. All she needed to do was to find a map, and then-- then--

She opened her eyes, sitting up with a start. She realised she didn't know where exactly in Australia _she_ was. She had arrived at the Ministry directly from England, and then had been taken to this room. She never thought to ask where she was.

She started looking around the room for clues. If this was like any other hotel, there would probably magazines or maybe a notepad with an address on it. She only needed to look around for a minute before she found a notepad next to the phone, with the hotel name and logo on the paper. At the bottom, an address. She was in Canberra.

"Good, good, it's a start," she said to the empty room. She had sent her parents to Sydney, knowing they would enjoy the city. She could probably get there by car in just a few hours.

Finally, she had the beginning of a strategy. She decided that in order to plan the rest, she would need energy. She ordered the biggest breakfast option available, took her wand, and went to get clothes from her bag.

" _Accio_ clothes," she commanded. Several pieces of clothing came out of the bag before she could stop the spell with a quick “ _Finite Incantatum!_ ”, making her laugh at her own distraction. She knew better; she should have specified which pieces of clothing she wanted. She started collecting all the clothes scattered on the floor, including a few of Ron's shirts that had been mixed with hers.

_Ron_. His name echoed in her mind, the longing for him erasing everything else. She had kissed him, and it took little effort to remember how it had felt to have him respond like that. She could swear they had _swayed_ in place with the force of it. Just to think of it made her feel elated all over again. She was almost sure that Ron was going to talk to her about it when they were sitting at the table alone. Now, because she had made the decision to come find her parents, she would have to wait to talk to him about it, and most importantly, to kiss him again and again. She had waited a long time, she deserved to kiss him again and again. And again.

That is, if he was really interested in her that way. She had tried to offer her hand as they walked, but he never took it. She had tried to show intimacy, reaching to clean his hair of debris. What if he hadn't wanted to talk about the kiss to start a relationship, but to stop her from thinking there would be one?

Hermione had made herself miserable with one simple thought. To even imagine that despite all the signs, despite all her daring, he wasn't interested in her, was not only humiliating but downright depressing.

Before she got herself in a bad mood, she decided that the best strategy was to get her parents and go back to England as soon as possible. Then she could find Ron, and then-- when she found her parents they could--

This time, Hermione let herself fall to the bed in dismay. She was clutching Ron's shirt, trying to find a way out of the horrible realisation she was facing. It didn't matter if she found her parents in just a few days, they wouldn't be able to go back to England until the borders were open again, and that could _very well be in more than a month._

_What have I done_ , Hermione thought, taking Ron's shirt up to her face so that she could hide behind it. She had been exhausted and traumatized, and the adrenaline running through her veins for hours had certainly not helped. She had never been good at making rush decisions and knew she could freeze in tense situations but, really, there was no excuse.

She had forced herself out of England, and there was no one to blame but her own faulty brain.

* * *

Facing the new understanding of her situation, Hermione almost felt like there was no rush in trying to find her parents. Yet she had to, and she would devote herself to doing it properly and fast, because it was her duty. She had done this to them, had done this to herself, and she would do whatever was needed. With this in mind, she asked the people at the Ministry to help her get a car set up to go to Sydney.

“Well, sure, if that’s what you prefer,” the Minister’s assistant had replied. “But we can set up a Portkey for you instead. Much faster, right? Unless you have a problem with that?”

“Right, a Portkey,” Hermione replied, baffled that he hadn’t thought of that. “That would work for me.”

“We’ll send an officer to pick you up, Apparate you to this office--there are wards, of course--and then you’ll be sent directly to a new hotel’s room. What do you think?”

The plan worked smoothly. Hermione was able to get settled in her new room that same evening, which had a gorgeous view of the city. She was finding it hard to enjoy it, though, as she felt sad at the prospect of not seeing Ron and her friends in so long, and nervous as to what awaited her when she found her parents.

She walked to the mirror, trying to imagine what her mum and dad would think when they saw her. She raised her hands to the small scar on her neck, still dark against her skin with new tissue where there used to be a gash. Dispassionately, almost like she was staring at a wax sculpture instead of her own body, she touched on the bits of her that were tender and bruised, and decided they were many but nothing to be concerned about. She wouldn't do much about it.

Her hair was a different issue, though. She let out a sigh in frustration, something she usually felt whenever she actually spent some time thinking of that messy bush. It looked worse, now. It was singed in different places, making it look asymmetric. The malnutrition she had faced had been bad enough that her period had stopped several months before; of course her body would not have enough to give to her hair. It looked opaque and brittle, like muddy-coloured hay.

_That's it. I'm chopping it_.

When she couldn't find scissors in the bathroom, she asked the desk if it was possible to get a pair from them. They brought them  to her shortly, and unceremoniously, she cut her hair above her shoulders but below her ears. Surprisingly, seeing less of it gave her relief. She brushed it, to check the result on the mirror. She moved her head from side to side, and decided that it would do. As long as she could put it behind her ears, she was fine. There was no point in being vain if there was no one to see.

After, she ordered some food. She didn’t think too much about it, and simply picked the first thing on the hotel’s menu. Then she called the desk and asked for a map, so that she could figure out how to get to her parents' house. Once she had a pretty good idea of where she would go, she requested that a taxi pick her up in the morning to go there and look at the place. She knew that she needed time to prepare, to plan, to choose her words; if she was going to be stuck in Australia, she might as well take a couple days to prepare for the task of getting her parents to remember her, after all.

Much later, as she got ready for bed, she felt no shame in sniffing at one of Ron's shirts. It was faint, but she could smell his scent on it, something indescribable but that she loved dearly. There were no doubts in her mind, she loved him, and she already missed him terribly. It was a poor substitution,  but since he wasn't going to be needing it any time soon, she chose to wear his clothes to bed.

She barely noticed anything around her, nor anything within her. Things had quickly lost all colour so that even the air felt bland in her lungs. She had nothing to hide behind; no books or tasks or goals. No new relationship to explore with Ron. Nothing but the fear of what her parents were going to say, how they were going to react.

She closed her eyes and let sleep envelop her in a cloud of despondency.

* * *

"Wake up! Ron!"

Ron opened his eyes reluctantly. Harry was shaking him awake. "Gerroff me," he complained, pushing him away.

"Suits me!" Harry countered. "More food for me!"

At the mention of food, Ron sat up on the bed, smelling the air.

"Aaahh, fresh food first thing in the morning. What a treat!"

He immediately reached for an egg and bacon sandwich, which he devoured in three bites. He stuffed two sausages in his mouth and swallowed fast, just as he reached for another sandwich and a cup of something, he didn't care what.

"I'm starving," he managed through a mouthful of bread.

"Kreacher outdid himself," Harry praised, eating as much and as fast as Ron was. "Ginny is at the Burrow. Where's Hermione, though? Should we call her to come join us?"

Ron almost choked on the food he was eating, as his throat had gone terribly dry. He drank from the cup, noting that it was fragrant, sweet tea on his tongue. It did nothing to help the knot around his throat.

"She's not here," Ron managed to say, his voice still a bit rough from sleep and the choking.

"Is she at the Burrow then?" Harry asked, a confused look on his face. "To be honest, I wouldn't have been surprised to wake up to her sleeping with you. Just keep it child-friendly in front of me, will you? And please don't get all _Mione-ninny Lovey Dovey_ and _Ronnie dear sweetie pie_ with each other, is all I ask."

Ron knew Harry was mostly teasing. His friend had been making disgusted faces and moving his hands for emphasis, thinking he was hilarious. He had no idea that it was just about the worst thing to tell him to imagine, himself and Hermione in any kind of situation where they were a couple. It was frankly depressing.

"No, she's not in _England_. She's in fucking _Australia_ ," Ron complained, getting up to look for his trainers. It was easier to be mad than sad.

"Australia?" Harry asked in shock, shaking his head as if that would help clear it up.

"That's what Kingsley wanted from her. To offer to take her to Australia to find her parents."

"That makes sense, doesn't it? She'd feel horrible postponing going to look for them. You'll see," Harry added, a hand gesturing to indicate he was not concerned at the situation. "She'll find them and be back before the week is over."

Ron pulled at the shoelaces like he wanted to suffocate his feet. "That may have been, if they hadn't closed the borders. Hermione won't be back until sometime in June. And she couldn’t bother to tell me about it, not even a Patronus to let me know what was going on," he finished with a grumble.

"Alright," Harry finally said. "I'm lost. Care to start again? From the beginning, this time?"

Ron told Harry about his encounter with Shacklebolt.

"That's a difficult decision to make," Harry commented, placating. "She probably went for what she thought was the most responsible, don't you think?"

"I s'pose," Ron conceded. Yes, he may understand, but it didn't mean he had to like it. He had offered her his help; he had envisioned himself going to Australia with her, and it burned him to know she had chosen to go alone instead.

"Ron," Harry interrupted his thoughts. From the look on his mate's face, Ron realised that what he was thinking must have been showing on his face. "You know I'm shite at talking about things, but... well... just don't jump to conclusions, yeah?"

"Yeah," Ron replied, not even sure he could actually follow the advice.

"Also..."

Ron lifted his gaze to look at him again. Harry had that face he got when he was humiliated and just about to get in one of his dark moods. "Harry..." Ron tried to stop him, to save him from it.

"No, let me. I just wanted to say... bloody hell, you know I'm sorry, right? About everything."

Harry didn't need to say more. Ron knew his friend very well, and knew exactly what he meant. He was thinking of all the loss and destruction. Harry, as always, was taking responsibility for everything bad that had happened.

"No, mate. Don't. It's not your fault. You finished the only real responsible person. That's what really matters."

"But your family..." Harry went on, words failing him as much as Ron's were. It didn't matter, they were beyond them.

"We owe you." Ron's throat was getting tight again, but for totally different reasons. "And they're your family, too," Ron added almost in a whisper before the reality of the situation made him feel too awkward to speak up.

Harry didn't answer, but Ron knew he had listened. The way Harry's shoulders had dropped in relief was all Ron needed to see.

"Let's go," he commanded. "There's a lot to do before we go home."

* * *

 

There were still a few hundred people at Hogwarts. Almost everyone was busy cleaning the castle; bursts of magic shone everywhere as it helped rebuild the place, one stone, one piece of wood at a time. Still, anytime someone realised Harry and Ron were there, they would stop them to shake their hands, to congratulate, to thank. And to Ron's horror, to give him their condolences.

Apparently, Ron was currently the only Weasley in all of Hogwarts, and as such his family's representative. It wouldn't be so bad, only that every time someone told him how sorry they were, Ron was forced to remember. Ron didn't want to remember. Ron didn't want to have to accept that his brother was gone.

Problem was, he remembered all too well. Whenever the memory intruded his awareness, a flood of tears and frustration had to be mercilessly repressed. Ron tried to be stoic and mature, accepting everyone's words calmly. In a weird way, he knew Fred wouldn't want him to react that way. He knew that if George hadn't been so broken at the moment, he would find a way to lessen the situation. A part of him wanted to honor the twins' affable spirit, but he found that he simply couldn't do so much at the moment. It took a lot to push down the difficult feelings he wasn't ready to deal with. He knew that, sometime soon, he would have to find the time and energy to explode and deal with it. Right now wasn't the moment, though. There was too much to do.

"Where to, now, mate?" Ron asked Harry, to distract himself from the pain.

"I don't think anyone has recovered Snape's body," Harry said simply, and started walking.

Ron could understand Harry's thinking. As the battle had centered around Hogwarts, people would probably leave the Shrieking Shack alone for a while. That being the case, nobody would have found Snape's body yet. He knew it was the noble thing to do, especially since Harry now seemed to feel some sense of connection with the man. Despite that, he almost wished they didn't have to go do it. He was sure the whole thing was going to be gruesome.

They made their way slowly through the ruins and pieces of masonry that seemed to cover everything, still having to stop once in a while to talk to people. When they finally reached the passage leading to the shack, they made their way fast to the room where Voldemort had killed Snape. They crossed the vent, still open from when they had been there a couple of days before, and Ron's eyes immediately found the man's body at the centre of the floor. He wished he hadn't, and quickly looked away. The scene was imprinted in Ron's mind in a way he knew would come back to him in the future. He heard Harry walking to Snape's body, so that Ron was forced to gather his strength and follow his mate.

The scene before him was shocking in a different way than the other corpses he had been forced to observe in the past. Snape's lips were dark purple, his eyes open yet opaque. His skin was even paler than usual, his face puffy yet tinged with green and the unnatural white that came with death. The gash on his neck was dark red and purple, the flesh torn and bruised in colours you never saw in someone alive. His abdomen was rounded like a big balloon, which baffled Ron, who didn’t know much about what death did to a body. The blood had dried up on his skin, but that on the floor was still slightly wet, pooling around the man's body like a horrifying halo. As upsetting as the sight was, the fact that Ron had known Snape for a big part of his life, had seen him gesturing and moving with a life that was gone now was much, much worse. Above everything, was the knowledge that he had thought at times how much easier his life would be if Snape was gone. At one point, he was sure he had carelessly wished the man dead. But he had done it in a moment of rage, not really wanting him to die, or maybe a little, but not really. Yet the thought had crossed his mind, and here he was, standing next to his inert body.

Ron closed his eyes and fisted his hands, holding his breath to stop the wave of nausea that assaulted him. He had hated him, wished him gone many times, but never imagined he would witness his murder and finally have to dispose of Snape's body. To know that Snape was an arse, but an arse that ultimately helped the war against Voldemort, only made it darker.

"Do you know the spells that are used in a situation like this?" Harry asked next to him, his voice raspy and grieving.

"Bloody hell-- I mean-- No, I don't," Ron replied, regret and anxiousness in his voice. "I have never had to do it. Mum... Mum did it with Fred," he finished, barely able to get his voice out and stop his treacherous mind from remembering how Fred had looked in death.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, realising that they were in trouble. If they had taken just a moment to think about it and plan accordingly, they wouldn't find themselves in this situation.

_Why did you have to go, Hermione? You would know the spells. You would help us through this_ , Ron thought bitterly.

"What do we do know?" Harry wondered.

"I think we should ask for help. I don't know about you, but I'd rather not carry him all the way to the castle. Seems... disrespectful, somehow. How about someone from the Order? McGonagall, maybe?"

"She must be busy, but let's see if she can help us. I'll send her a patronus," Harry concluded.

A few minutes passed by as they waited for an answer or for help. They stood still next to Snape's body, both seemingly wanting to avoid anything too disrespectful. The man might have been abusive, but they still felt the need to respect his sacrifice. Finally, after a few minutes, McGonagall herself Apparated to the Shrieking Shack.

_Whatever magic stops people from Apparating and Disapparating from Hogwarts must not be working_ , Ron thought in a moment of flippancy, Hermione’s voice reminding him of the fact she had tried to hammer into his brain.

"Professor McGonagall, thanks for coming," his friend said next to Ron.

"You did well in calling me, Potter. Hello, Mr. Weasley. I thanked Harry yesterday for what he did for the wizarding community, but I haven't had the time to talk to you yet."

Ron felt his ears start to burn, surely getting redder by the minute. Usually he would have enjoyed McGonagall's thanks, but he didn't want to associate it to the situation they were in at the moment and really wanted her to stop her words right there. "Please, not at all, it's not necessary."

"It is, but perhaps it will have to wait," she said as she looked around the room and noticed Snape's body on the floor.

Ron saw her grow incredibly pale as she observed her colleague. Holding her hands tight in front of her and squaring her shoulders, she walked to stand next to Harry and himself.

"Good Merlin," she exclaimed. "I never fully trusted him, but I trusted Dumbledore that he was on our side. I suppose he was, after all."

"He was," Harry confirmed.

"I'm sorry that this happened to him. What a horri-- horrible way to die," McGonagall managed to say. She was a stern, strict woman, but Ron knew she deeply cared about people. He wasn't surprised to see the regret etched on her face.

"What should we do with his body, Professor?"

After a few moments, she let out a sigh and finally looked at Harry. "I will take care of it. I will arrange for his body to be buried in Hogwarts' cemetery."

"Hogwarts has a cemetery?" Ron asked, shocked that in all their years there, he had never seen it or heard about it.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, of course. Dumbledore hasn't been the only person that has dedicated their lives to the school. It's not widely divulged or talked about for reasons I'm sure you can guess. It's also enchanted so that students can't find it."

"Yes, of course," Ron commented, slightly embarrassed at his question and not having thought about it before.

"Well, thank you, Professor McGonagall," Harry said. "Do you need any help from us?"

"No, thank you. I'll make sure he is given a proper burial."

With no other words, Ron and Harry left the place in silence. Ron felt guilty to be thankful of leaving the place and Snape behind. It seemed to Ron that Harry felt some kind of admiration for their old professor after what he learned during the Battle. Ron didn’t really agree with Harry; in his view, what Snape had done didn’t fully redeem him from being the arse he had been all those years. Ron wasn’t able to fully explain why he felt that way, at least not yet, but it didn’t matter. He did believe that Snape deserved respect when he was no longer there to defend himself.

_Goodbye, Snape,_ Ron murmured in his mind as he crossed the vent for one last time.


	3. No Brightness in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Anxiety Attack

Ron and Harry quickly made their way back to the Great Hall. There they worked with the rest of the people helping to rebuild the castle. For the best part of two hours, Ron and Harry used both their strength and their magic to try to get the old stones back to place. It was while doing this that Ron first perceived something extraordinary: people were asking him to lead them, as well. If they couldn't ask Harry for some reason, they would ask Ron instead. Sometimes, he felt like he even had been their first choice. In any case, Ron had to wonder why they would ask him, when he didn't know more than anybody about rebuilding an old castle.

Everyone in Hogwarts knew that Ron and Harry were best friends, and after the battle, they all seemed to think of it in positive terms. It seemed to him that for once, everybody was of the same opinion; they all seemed to think that Ron had helped Harry. He thought it might be because after being on the run, after being targeted by Voldemort's followers, everyone thought highly of him. In consequence, everybody was willing to think of Ron as one of the leaders of the war.

He reached for a big piece of stone and lifted it above him, then fitted it into place, deep in thought. Ron had learned enough of human nature to know the whole thing wasn't going to last. Soon enough, people were going to start asking whether Ron had simply been an inconvenience to Harry and mostly getting in his way. They would soon remember all the things they had said about him through the years, and honestly, he wasn't looking forward to it. As for the admiration he was receiving at the moment, it shocked him to realise it didn't feel quite as brilliant as he had always imagined. It came with a lot of responsibility. And if he felt that way about telling people where to put a specific piece of wood, what would it feel like to be in charge of something more important?

"Ron," Harry called, distracting him from his thoughts. "Come here for a bit?"

Ron walked to where his mate was holding two pieces of stonework. "Yeah?"

"Which one of these do you think go up there?" Harry questioned, indicating with one of the hands that held a stone.

Ron looked at the hole in the archway where Harry had been working, trying not to think about how it was Harry the one asking for directions now. "Uhm... this one," he replied as he indicated to Harry's left hand. "The color matches better, I think."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Harry commented, dropping the other piece and fitting the one from his left hand up in the archway with magic. "Look, I wanted to ask you something."

"Sure, what is it, mate?"

"Remember what your dad said last night, about me going to Andromeda's house before the funeral?"

"Yeah," Ron said, deciding to leave it at that. He didn't think he would find the words to convey all the images that he immediately got in his mind, of Tonks and Lupin and poor little Teddy.

"Will you go with me? Ginny is going, but I thought they would have liked to see you, too."

Ron felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He felt horrible that he hadn't been thinking of them before, and had instead simply been thinking of how short-lived his fame would probably be. How could he be so shallow, when so many people had passed away tragically in one single night?

He looked to the floor, utterly ashamed of himself. He didn't even stop to consider of the other person he was making an effort not to think about. "Dunno, Harry, do you really think so?"

"Of course I do. In a way, we were all part of the Order. Besides... well, the thing is... I don't know how many people will be there. I don't think they would have liked a big funeral, but I still think they should be given a proper goodbye, with the people that knew them and cared for them. Don't you think?"

"Sure, mate, of course I'll go, if you think it's the right thing to do," Ron finally conceded, determined to not be such a prat again.

"Thanks, Ron. Ginny should be here soon. We'll go as soon as she arrives, yeah?"

Ron noticed how Harry went back to work, his face sad and solemn. Ron went back to working next to his friend, knowing that he would have to pay attention to Harry in the future. If he didn’t, he knew Harry could have a really, really difficult time dealing with the aftermath of the battle. _Good thing Ginny will pay attention, too_ , he thought as he cast a spell on a piece of masonry, for the first time not concerned one bit of how Ginny helped Harry deal with the darkness that he sometimes had inside.

* * *

 

The morning had been very frustrating. Hermione had called the Australian Ministry of Magic and had asked if they could deliver a message to someone in England. They said that all magical communications went through the English Ministry of Magic, and Minister Shacklebolt had advised against any communications for a few days, unless it was an emergency or information about escaping Dark Wizards. Hermione understood that personal business, no matter how important for her, wasn't an emergency. Imagining how Kingsley had his hands full after the battle, decided against using the Ministries to try to contact Ron. _If only they had a phone_ , she thought. But the Weasleys didn't, and the phone they used before was somewhere in Ottery St. Catchpole and she didn’t know its number, anyway. Now she couldn't talk to him in who knew how long.

Hermione chastised herself all the while she was taking a shower. How could she be so bad at making snap decisions under pressure? She forgot she was a witch half the time! She was lucky she had not made a stupid mistake while fighting for her life yet. Granted, she had never expected to have to decide to come to Australia like that, all of a sudden. She might not have chosen to do so had Kingsley not been so insistent, and if Ron hadn't talked to her about it just a few minutes before that. Yet she knew she had none to blame but herself, and now she was alone halfway around the world. She wouldn’t be surprised if Ron was angry with her right now… and she had no way to explain, to say she was sorry.

She also knew that she should be there next to Ron and his family right now. Instead, she had failed at doing even the littlest of gestures and hadn’t sent a Patronus message to him before leaving. She only hoped that Ron found solace in his family, which could probably be a good substitute for her presence.

She had had time to calm herself a little by the time she got to the house she had rented for her parents. She had no plans to knock at their door just yet; she needed to plan and prepare for it. She just wanted to take a look at it and think about the task ahead of her.

The house was right next to a little park, and Hermione sat on a bench with a good view of the main door. The place looked exactly like the pictures she remembered from the realtor's brochure. It had great curb appeal, with a beautiful little front garden--her mum loved to garden--and an old, big tree giving shade to the front windows.

She stayed there for a bit more than an hour, trying to imagine what it would be like to talk to her mum and dad again. She hoped, oh how she hoped that they would forgive her for what she had done. Ron had said that he thought they would, that they would understand she only meant to protect them. As much as she loved Ron for trying to comfort her, he didn't know her parents as well as she did.

Her parents were stickers for the rules; where did everyone think she got her personality from? Rules and morals gave society a structure for peaceful coexistence. She never doubted their love for her, but they could be a bit rigid sometimes. That's what she was the most afraid of.

What if they hated her for it? What if they sent her away, because their life was so much better without her now? Worse, what if she failed to charm their memories back to what they were, and maimed them forever? What if she performed faulty magic and they became a ghost of what they used to be? How could she deal with that here, so far from home, without any help from those she could always count on?

Hermione's heart was beating so fast that she could feel it up in her throat. Her breathing sped up to the point of making her dizzy, and she grabbed the bench until her knuckles were white with effort. She had felt extremely anxious before, but never like this. Her stomach was a painful knot. She felt so weak and light-headed that she started to become afraid she would pass out right there in the park.

_It won't do, you can't pass out. Get a grip!_ she thought.

When the sensations didn't disappear right away, she had to admit that she might need help. She had never felt like this before, and it was making her scared that something might happen to her. She had never felt her heart racing like this, and was afraid it wouldn’t be capable of keeping that speed for too long. The air seemed to have lost its oxygen, and she couldn’t get enough of it; she felt like she was suffocating. She forced herself to let go of the bench, her muscles tense from the effort they had been doing, and reached for the mobile phone the Ministry had given her. She hadn't taken the time to learn to use it, so she was a little confused. The way her hands were shaking didn't help.

_Focus, just focus, don't let it win._

Minutes felt like hours as she tried to figure out the phone, her mind so confused that she couldn’t read what words were on the tiny screen. Intrusive thoughts kept distracting her, demanding her attention.

_What’s going on with me? Why do I feel this way? My hands have never shook like this. Something’s wrong, this is not normal. I need help._

_Stop! Stop right now. Figure out how to call the bleeding Ministry RIGHT NOW!_

It was only her courage and determination that helped her to distance herself from her fear, so that she could put her attention on the device she was holding in her trembling hands. She started to understand the words on the phone, and she realised that putting her mind on a task had seemed to calm her down a bit. She took a few deep breaths, trying to focus on the task, on the breathing, letting the air come out of her slowly. Again, she kept her concentration on her breathing, on the feeling of the bench under her, the noise of the cars on the street. Anytime her mind started worrying about the way her heart still fluttered in a too-quick motion, she ruthlessly brought it back to the slow breathing she barely was able to keep. She didn’t know how long it took, but after a while she was able to be functional--if not normal--again. Her heart was still beating fast, her thoughts were still racing, but she seemed to have stopped herself from passing out. At the moment it seemed like a small victory, despite the tingling she could still feel crawling her skin.

_I can't let this happen again_ , she thought as she got up and forced herself to walk it out. Trying to reason her way out of the situation, she told herself that it was simply another indication that she had to take small steps to find her parents. It would be better for all of them if she had a clear and strict plan to follow. She couldn't afford fainting at her parents' doorstep.

* * *

 

Harry, Ginny, and Ron arrived to the Burrow late that Sunday. His friend and his sister went to sit on the sofa. Ron went to the kitchen looking for his mum instead, catching from the corner of his eye how Ginny kissed Harry softly on the mouth.

_That was fast_ , Ron thought with a slight sense of jealousy. He knew she was comforting Harry; he had had a difficult time at Lupin and Tonk's funeral. Still, he couldn't help but being a bit upset, not so much about them being together, but about how it contrasted with his own situation. He had imagined he would be with Hermione by now, but again he was forced to remember why that wasn't so. It only helped to depress him more.

He stopped in the middle of the kitchen, suddenly aware that it was empty. There were no pots slowly boiling down a sauce, no roasts in the oven. For the first time since he could remember, the kitchen at the Burrow was empty and cold.

Ron's heart grew heavy in the realisation of why his mother wasn't there. Ginny had only said that their parents were at home, so he knew they hadn't gone out; yet he understood that it didn't mean that things were as they usually were. There was no _normal_ around here anymore, and how could it be?

Ron sat in one of the mismatched chairs that surrounded the big kitchen table. His elbows on the table and his head on his hands, he knew he wouldn't be able to keep everything inside for much longer. Seeing how they buried people he had known and cared about, and the immense regret that he felt that so many lives had been lost, had made him highly aware that he would have to say a final goodbye to his brother the following day.

Ron didn't think he was ready to face the agony he had barely been able to keep away. He didn't think he was going to be capable of standing there, seeing how his family was effectively changed forever. To put Fred's casket in the ground, like a period at the end of a dark sentence, putting his life to a definite end. To be a witness of the pain everyone felt, just like his own. To look at George's face now that his life was torn in half, as alone as little Teddy had looked, both abandoned from the unique love they both deserved simply for who they were. Instead, they would never again receive the love of their twin, or their parent.

Ron felt the first tears he had allowed himself to shed making their way under his hands. They run slowly down his face, staying for a second on his chin, to then fall into his lap unceremoniously.

"Son?"

Ron lifted his head, but didn't look to his dad. Instead, he scrubbed his face with his arm, trying to dry the tears he had let out in a moment of weakness. He wasn't ashamed of them, not really, but he didn't think he could afford them right now. They brought him too close to breaking down when he didn't know if he could climb back out of that hole, once he jumped in there.

He felt his dad sitting on the chair next to him. "Are you alright, Ron?"

"Yeah. Yes, dad," Ron replied with what he hoped was certainty. "Just... you know."

"Yes, I know," Arthur assented. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Ron nodded his head no. "Not yet. Besides, I don't want to put my own feelings on your shoulders. I know you must feel terrible too, dad. And you have to be there for Mum, as well. You already have a lot to deal with."

"I'm not only here for your Mum, Ron. She is here for me as well, as much as we're all here for each other."

"Still," Ron said, determined. "We're all hurting. I don't want to add to anybody's suffering."

"You won't, and that's what I'm trying to say. You also deserve the opportunity to grieve."

"I _am_ grieving," Ron asserted a little defensively. "In my own way. I just... I want to _help_ , you see?"

"I see," Arthur replied after a while. He sighed. "You were very close to the twins. George is going to need a lot of help. I know I can trust you to look after him."

"Yes, of course," Ron agreed.

"I’m making some tea for your mum. Would you like some? Fleur made some biscuits earlier, if you want some."

"Thanks, dad. I will."

Arthur began preparing the tea, as Ron gathered some biscuits on a plate for his mum and on another for himself.

"Huh, Ron? What happened with Hermione? I don't think I quite got the answer yesterday."

Once again, and with that simple question, Ron was forced to admit to himself how much it upset him that she had gone without him, and honestly, how much he missed her.

"Yeah, sorry, I didn't have the full story when you asked. She left for Australia," he tried to comment nonchalantly. "Kingsley found her after you told him that her parents were down there."

"Oh, I thought that was the case. She would have wanted to tell them the war is over so that they can all return, right?"

"Yeah," Ron said, hoping the subject would end right there. His parents knew that Hermione's had gone to Australia for safety, but they didn't know about the memory spell she had used on them. He might be feeling dejected, but he wouldn't let one of her secrets be known carelessly.

"Make sure to invite them all when they come back."

"I will."

Arthur put a cup of tea in front of Ron, and then patted him on the back. He smiled to Ron, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He then picked up the plate with biscuits. "Thank you, son," he added as he left the kitchen.

His dad had barely gone out of the kitchen when Ron noticed a big, orange, furry ball walking to where Ron was standing. With a shock, Ron saw Crookshanks looking around the room, a questioning _meow_ filling the air.

“What the…” Ron half-exclaimed, bewildered at seeing the cat. He could vaguely remember that just before Bill’s wedding, Ron and Hermione had asked Ginny to keep their pets safe when they went away. He had totally forgotten that Crookshanks would be at The Burrow, though, and hated to think that seeing him around the house would be another sign that Hermione wasn’t there. Like he needed any more reminders, anyway.

Ron let himself drop to the same chair once again. He had thought that his future was nothing but bright after they won the war. How could he had been so wrong?

* * *

 

Breakfasts at the Weasley house had always been a boisterous event. The more Weasleys were sitting around the table, the more shouting, the more requests to get something from across the table, the more lively it got. His mum would serve plateful after plateful until everybody had their bellies full, his dad making more and more tea for everybody.

As Ron looked around the table, he couldn't help but notice how different this breakfast was from what he had always known. Everyone was here; but breakfast had been done by Bill and Fleur, put on the table, and that was it. Now they were all sitting together, Ginny and Harry together beside him; Bill and Fleur next. Then his dad and his mum, and then there were Charlie and Percy. And finally, to the other side of him, was George. That was it, that was the family now. They were eight Weasleys from now on. True, Harry was there and he was like family, and Fleur had been officially part of the family for a while. He had hoped Hermione would be there, with him, with them all. Her absence kept creeping out to stare him in the face, like a sore spot on his heart. Yet the most painful, soul-breaking missing person was Fred.

They were burying Fred in a couple of hours, and they all could think of little else.

Ron looked at George surreptitiously. He was looking down to his plate, his hand on the fork, unmoving. Ron didn't know if George had eaten at all the day before, but he was not eating now.

"Can I pass you anything, George?" Ron asked him in a soft voice, hoping that the others wouldn't hear, yet knowing that the house was so silent they could hear a needle drop.

"Did you notice that Fred's hand on the clock is pointing to _Lost_?" George replied, completely ignoring Ron's hint that he needed to eat.

Ron had to put his own fork down, knowing he wouldn't be able to eat with the way his throat had closed in. Ron had noticed. The night before he had looked at it for a long time, wondering what the hell _lost_ meant. He had always thought it meant the person was lost like without a map or something. Now the word had a totally different meaning. Fred was lost, but lost to them. "Yes, I did."

Everyone had stopped eating, shocked that George had spoken at all. All eyes were on him. Ron was sure they all wished they could do more, do something at all, just like Ron did.

"I think we should put it in Fred's casket."

"We'll do it, if you think it's best," Molly asserted. When Ron looked up to her, he could see that her eyes were still swollen from her crying earlier that day, or perhaps the night before.

George got up from the table, the noise his chair made as it moved on the floor resounding across the small kitchen. With no words said, they all got up and followed George to the sitting room.

Ron observed as his brother stood still in front of the family's clock, looking at it dispassionately. As time went by, Ron took the opportunity to look at everyone. In one way or another, they were all displaying their mourning: his mum and Fleur were crying silently. His dad and his own eyes were full of unshed tears. Ginny was hugging Harry close as she looked at George, and Harry himself had a serious, grieving face. His elder brothers, Bill, Charlie, and Percy, had their arms around each other, giving each other support.

George moved, taking Ron's attention back to him. He had lifted his hands to the center of the clock, to the point where all hands met. He unscrewed the rounded nut that held them all in place, and left it on the mantel carefully. He removed the hand that was on top, which happened to be Charlie's. As he did so, the clock made a strange sound, like a great engine that had come to a sudden stop. A bright violet light shone behind it for a moment, to then fade away slowly.

Everyone remained calm, apparently assuming that it was the clock stopping its mechanism. Ron didn't know if the clock would work at all afterwards, but he didn't let it worry him. His mum had dismantled it before, when they replaced the pictures a couple of years earlier; she probably knew how to make it work again. Instead, he kept on looking as George took the next three hands, until he finally reached the hand that held his picture, and then Fred's.

He held both clock hands, each one clutched tightly between a set of fingers. George stood there, looking at the way the twins were winking to the camera, and then high-fiving each other on the edge of each picture. Both pictures were in sync, and looping perfectly so that it looked like they were constantly teasing the observer, as if they held a secret that only the other twin knew.

"I'm ready to go," George whispered.

Without saying a word, all the Weasleys and their present significant others lined up in front of the chimney's hearth. One by one, they took some floo powder and announced clearly, "St. Catchpole Funerary Home."

Ron was the last one to step into the hearth. He hesitated only a second, his hand deep in the floo powder held in a pot next to the chimney. He resolutely gathered the little strength he thought he had, took some powder, and followed his family to the last place he ever thought he would be visiting Fred.

* * *

 

They had been lead to the burial site from the administrative building next to it. Two clerks were helping the rites officer, who now stood in front of the open casket hovering over the hole in the ground.

It were these three people and the ten that had shared breakfast only an hour prior that stood around Fred. They were waiting for the only few that had been allowed to come say goodbye. Slowly, one by one they came: first Angelina, then two Weasley cousins that had been close to the twins, and three of the twin's friends from school: Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, and Lee Jordan. Ron knew that the family would get in trouble with some of the old aunts and uncles, but Molly and Arthur had been adamant. Only the people that Fred cared about had been invited. They all knew that he wouldn't have wanted hypocrisy for the occasion.

Someone had probably indicated to the officer that they were all there, for he started talking. Yet Ron didn't hear anything past "Fred was deeply loved by his family." His ears started buzzing, protecting him from having to ever remember an echo of Fred’s eulogy, and his chest felt heavy with the scream he wanted to let out. He wanted to complain, to yell at the world that this was hugely unfair, that Fred should be back with them. Morbidly, he tried to imagine that Fred would suddenly sit up on his casket, his face full of laughter, mocking everyone for having believed he was gone. But he didn't need to look, he didn't _want_ to look, to see Fred pale and unmoving in that wooden box.

For the first time since the Battle, Ron allowed himself to replay the chaotic moment of Fred’s death. He imagined how it could have happened differently, how he could have seen it coming so that he could warn Fred to get out of the way. He knew it was futile, but he found it was the only way he could cope with this tragedy.

He was taken out of his own thoughts by George moving forward. The casket was only a few steps away, but to Ron it seemed insurmountable. He noticed that the officer had stopped talking, and he wondered how long the silence had lasted.

The group was seized by utter grief, its density filling the air. Ron observed his older brother take both clock hands from his pocket, and observe the pictures' unknowing joy. Back then, when the pictures had been taken to renew it as its members grew older, it had been a brighter time, an easier time. And even if the times had been getting darker by then, the twin's spark had been something nobody had ever expected to go away.

Ron was shocked to realise that, despite what he had originally thought, George was placing both clock hands under Fred's joined hands. He didn't say a word, but Ron understood as if he had spoken loud and clear. _I am not whole, I am lost as well. An old piece of wood on the mantle could never know. Take me with you, brother, and I'll carry you in my heart._

Ron could hear the words resounding plainly in his mind, and he could only dimly wonder if maybe some sort of powerful magic was being cast on them. It didn't matter, though. Whether it had happened or he had imagined them, he knew it would always echo in his own heart.

Ron noticed for the first time how his own face was wet with tears he didn't remember had started. He was sure everyone else was in a similar condition. They were not a perfect family, but they truly loved each other. Missing Fred would be a wound that would surely leave a deep scar in all of them.

"Now we say our final words of farewell," the officer announced. "Fred Weasley, you are loved, and will be missed."

The man took his wand, and ceremoniously moved his hand in a particular pattern to accompany his silent spell. With no noise but that of the wooden lid closing shut, a white flash of light moved across the joining sections of the casket, sealing it as if it had never been open.

George started crying in earnest, his sobbing no longer subtle enough to remain unheard. The casket started moving downwards, slowly finding its place in the ground. Ron's heart broke once more, another crack tearing it apart, as he himself started loudly crying, his shoulders shaking with each whimper. His face still wet with tears, and despite the sorrow filling his soul, he put his own needs aside once more, and walked to George, holding him with his arms around his shoulders.

Soon, he could feel his mum's and dad's arms around them too, and one by one everyone joined them. They were a big group of people, all holding each other, all holding George. They were saying goodbye to one of their own, and nobody had the strength to do it alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everybody :) I’d like to thank those who have left lovely reviews on this story. I’ve worked so hard on it, and hearing that people like it makes me really happy!   
> Thanks to amazeballs twinsy Jenahid for betaing, as always, and to Otterandterrier for letting me use her headcanon that Crookshanks was at the Burrow during this time.   
> Next chapter will be more centred on Hermione. I don’t know when I’ll be able to post it, though. I’ll be extremely busy 24/7 during the next three weeks, but I will try to steal an hour to post it if I can…


	4. The Strategy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Panic Attack

The next few days went very slowly for Hermione. She was starting to get up late, and looking back, she realised she wasn't using much magic anymore. There was no reason to; she knew of no spells that would help her convince her parents that she deserved forgiveness, and being alone all day didn’t provide any opportunities for magic to be needed. Besides, she simply didn’t want to use the only wand at her disposal…

The result was that it was becoming harder and harder to find the motivation to do anything at all. She simply spent the days imagining different scenarios, her mind full of images of her parents and of Ron, so busy in her head that he often forgot to eat.

The first couple of days, she tried to think positively. She got out of the hotel room and walked at dusk, when the air cooled down a few degrees. The slight chill in the breeze that came from the ocean would play with her short hair, still shocking her with the new sensations on her neck. Then, she tried hard to imagine that her parents would be so happy to remember her and see her alive, that they hugged her and listened to her story, a bit upset at her choices but fully understanding. When she was successful at seeing things this way, she fantasized that they would spend the next few weeks reconnecting in Australia before returning to England, where she would immediately seek out Ron. Then her favourite part began. In her mind, Ron would see her and give her one of those smiles that filled her with joy, and then he would hug her and kiss her, telling her he had missed her so much, and that in the middle of his pain, he was truly happy to see her.

As she started to feel more lonely and scared of what the near future would bring to her, she started seeing more negative scenarios. When she was feeling that way, she didn't perceive the breeze or the beautiful colours of the setting sun. She would imagine instead that her parents shunned her, and that she would have to spend the remaining time in this foreign land all alone and full of regrets, constantly looking back at what she could have done differently, trying to figure out how to get her own parents to forgive her. Sometimes, she imagined she wasn't able to find them at all, and when she was allowed back to England, head hanging in shame and guilt, even her magical loved-ones didn't welcome her anymore. When she saw these images in her mind, often the Weasleys would express that she wasn't a part of the family, and Ron would say that she hadn't been there when he needed her, and had gotten used--and started liking--his life without her.

Slowly but surely, these dark images in her mind made her feel worse and worse. She was finding it hard to sleep at night, dreading the nightmares that were starting to happen every time she let herself doze off.

On this particular night, six days after reaching Australia, Hermione was lying on the couch, the TV on, displaying a program she didn't even know what it was about. She knew it was late; the sun had set several hours before. On this particular night, she kept imagining that Ron would not only be surprised to see her again, but that rejection would be plain in his features. In that scenario, she felt she deserved it. She had failed to be there for him when she knew he would need her. Of course he wouldn’t want to see her anymore.

Just to imagine that Ron would not want her in his life any more was too difficult to handle. She tried to get the image out of her head, telling herself sternly that she knew Ron better, and that she was feeling this way because she missed him so much. If only she could talk to him, if only she could let him know she was thinking of him. But the Ministry had been clear, only urgent communication. Otherwise, the borders were closed to all magical exchange.

_Magical_ exchange.

Hermione sat up as she played with the new idea in her head. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to do it. It was the first time she felt anything besides a bland, frustrated dullness, and the change was clear and exciting.

It was so simple, really. She could send a letter to Ron muggle-style! It would probably take a couple of weeks to get there; Muggle international mail services usually took long. But if she started writing now, then maybe he would get several of her letters before _she_ got to England. Maybe those letters would pave the way for her, so that Ron knew how he was in her mind, and how she wished to be there with him.

She got up with more energy than she had had in days. She took the notepad that the Hotel provided for taking notes, and started writing.

_May 8, 1998_

_Dear Ron,_

_I can't believe I didn't think of this before. I tried to contact you and your family through the Australian Ministry of Magic, but they told me that the borders were closed to all sorts of traveling and communication, unless it was urgent or information regarding escaping Dark Wizards. For that reason, I felt I couldn't abuse the system and ask them to deliver this letter to you. That's why you're receiving this letter in the Muggle way._

_I hope you know that I'm thinking of you and of your family. It was difficult for me to not see my parents for a year, as you well know; to remember them and wish them near was very tough at times, and that's with having the hope of seeing them again. I can't imagine what you all are going through, because when you remember Fred, you don't have the same hope to make it easier._

_I am so, so sorry, Ron. I know I told you before, but I want you to remember that. Know that if I had had time to think, that if my mind hadn't been so hazy with lack of sleep, I might have chosen differently. Because I remember what you said right after the battle, that you would help me. Maybe I'm being too optimistic, or reading too much into things, but I think that maybe you would have said yes to coming to Australia with me. If I had chosen to wait to come get my parents, maybe you would have been here with me as I face something that has me absolutely terrified._

_Still, you know me. I feel I have a duty to my parents to try and give them their memory back as soon as possible. One thing was to cast that spell on them for their protection, and another to postpone their return to who they truly are--to their freedom, in a way, you know?--for purely selfish reasons._

_I haven't seen my parents yet, but I'm planning to go to their house tomorrow. If they still are even a bit like themselves, they might still go grocery shopping on Saturday mornings. I hope to find them as they settle down with a fresh drink before lunch._

_Wish me luck!_

_Love to you and your family from me. I miss you!_

_Hermione_

She signed the letter, happier than she had been in the last few days. She would buy an envelope and more paper tomorrow, and would send it with the hope that it would reach him as soon as possible.

* * *

 

Ron came down the stairs quickly, two steps at a time as usual. For once in his life, he didn't expect breakfast to be ready, waiting for him; such things were not common these days at the Burrow. Still, despite the grief that permeated his home like a thick grey cloud and that Ron could feel clenching his heart, his stomach had chosen to complain of hunger this morning.

He had decided he would make breakfast for himself and for George, who Ron had noticed hadn't eaten the night before. If anyone was awake, Ron would make breakfast for them as well. He couldn't promise a delicious meal, but he would make sure people around him were taking care of themselves.

On his way to the kitchen, Ron saw that Harry was sitting in one of the big chairs in the sitting room. One look to his face told Ron all he needed to know; Harry was brooding, deeply set into one of his dark moods. Ron knew this was the way Harry dealt with a lot of the things that happened in his eventful life, just as well as he knew that Harry tended to assume the guilt for everything bad in the world.

Ron made a tactical choice, and deviated from his path to the kitchen and sat in one of the couches close to Harry. He wanted to be there for his friend, too, and do whatever it took to keep Harry from going from brooding into something worse.

"Hey, mate," Ron casually said.

"Hey," Harry replied.

"What are you up to?"

"Just thinking," Harry evaded. Ron thought for a moment, trying to decide if he should let Harry avoid talking about what he was going through. Knowing that it would help him get out of it faster, Ron chose to push him instead.

"I can see that," Ron countered. "I can almost see the thoughts going on in your head. You're wrong," he emphasized.

Harry huffed, not looking at Ron. "C'mon, you can't know what I'm thinking."

"'Course I do. I've known you since we were eleven. I've seen you in every mood. I'm not particularly bright, but I can discern patterns. Right now, you're thinking that you're to blame for every person who's suffering right now."

Harry looked up, seemingly irritated that Ron was being so direct. Ron had expected some anger, so he didn't let it interrupt him.

"Which of course doesn't make sense at all," Ron continued, conversationally. "Death and suffering are the horrible consequences of war. They are a responsibility primarily of those who began the war, and secondly of those who cast the spells. You weren't the one to start the war, and you mostly used your wand only when it was necessary. You can't blame yourself for it."

"You don't understand," Harry asserted. "I was the one who had to kill Voldemort. I shouldn't have involved so many people in the process."

"Bollocks. Would you say _you_ involved _us_?” Ron asked while waving a hand to indicate his home and his family. He quickly wondered what he could possibly say; he had no idea what he was doing. He dismissed the thought, though, and kept on going, hoping he’d find the right arguments. “Do you really think we would have been happy to stay behind? To go away somewhere, maybe, in the hopes of escaping the terror Voldemort was bringing to the magical world?"

Harry thought for a moment, seemingly trying to figure out a reply to Ron's questions. "You wouldn't," he conceded, "but maybe you should have."

Ron was quickly losing steam. It had been easy to talk to Harry when he had started, when it was mostly about Harry and his thoughts. Now he guessed that Harry was pulling Ron and his family into the discussion, and it would probably get uncomfortable pretty soon.

Still, this was about his friend, and how to help him stop blaming himself for everything. Even in the uneasiness of the conversation, Ron could intuit this was a talk they both needed.

"No, we shouldn't have," Ron argued, slightly hesitant, picking up the discussion. He cleared his throat, unsure of the words he should use. Then he took some breath in, his foot tapping the floor, and started talking fast before he thought too much about it. "If we can't fight for a better world, then we don't deserve to live in it. We're part of the world, then we have to help protect it. We wouldn't have been able to live with ourselves if we had taken a step back only because we weren't the primary victims of the regime. You can't take our responsibility away from us. And the same can be said about everyone who fought on our side."

Harry didn't reply. He was looking to the floor, shuffling his foot on the faded rug and holding his head on his hand, so that Ron couldn’t clearly see his face anymore. Despite this, Ron had the strong impression that Harry still wasn’t ready to accept what Ron was saying.

"Look," Ron insisted, ruffling his own hair. He wasn’t sure what else to say; how to explain to Harry his and his family’s views, so that Harry would understand their reasons to fight. Still, it was important that Harry understood, and in speaking up, it would help Ron to remember why they had fought in the first place. Maybe that would help, if only in a minimal way, to accept the horrible consequences for his family. "Everybody who fought did it because they chose to. We knew what the risk was in fighting, and decided that the risk of Voldemort winning was much worse. You're entitled to be sorry for those who didn't make it, we all are. But you can't take away our right to fight for our lives the way we want to."

Harry dropped his head on the back of the bulky seat, looking at the ceiling. The silence stretched between them, and for a moment Ron thought Harry had believed his words, which gave him both a sense of victory and thankfulness that the awkwardness was over. Yet Ron knew something was bugging his friend just by the look on his face.

"Alright, that’s true. In the beginning, you could probably see the risk as worth taking. But be honest, would you still make the same choices if you knew that Fred would die because of them? Think all the way back to that day on the train, when we met. Would you?"

Ron looked to the floor, trying to process what Harry was saying and the pain the words had inevitably triggered in him. Ron felt a current of sorrow underneath every breath he took, but was relatively successful in keeping it at bay unless he was forced to think of Fred directly. Right now, Fred's face was full front to his mind's eye. Ron felt shame that right now, he wanted to look away.

Would he have made the same choice? Where would he have changed his mind? How far would he have had to go before deciding to abandon the fight? How far back did he have to go to make sure he would be safe, or that Fred would be safe?

The house was silent, since most of Ron's family were sleeping late these days. It wasn't fear of waking them up that kept Ron's voice low, but the emotions knotting his throat.

"Harry," Ron started, and hesitated again. It was true that Harry was his best friend, but they never talked like this. Ron never talked like this with anybody, actually, except with Hermione a few times. He resolutely pushed the thought of her away from his mind, knowing he needed to focus on Harry and the words he needed to say. She would be too much distraction, too much yearning, to deal with right now.

“Harry,” he repeated. Ron gathered his strength and tenaciously opened up to his friend. "I wish with all my heart that Fred was alive. The house is too silent, Mum and Dad are desolated, and George's eyes are empty and it breaks my heart.” His voice cracked. He swallowed, trying to clear it. Ron rubbed his face, trying to hide behind his hands as he bared his soul to his friend for a second time, now with no horcrux mediating. “We're all missing Fred with every cell in our bodies. I wish I had seen the explosion coming, so that I could have warned him to move out of the way. I wish he had been somewhere else altogether so that he wasn't in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yet I know that avoiding that particular situation doesn't guarantee that Fred or somebody else in my family wouldn't have been killed somewhere else. The only way to know for sure that nobody would have been killed in battle is that there was no battle. For that, there must be no war. For that, we need to either have no Voldemort or no will to fight him. None of that is realistic. We would all have been involved in the fight against Voldemort because the Order existed even before I asked if I could sit next to you on the train. So where is that magical moment, really, that would have guaranteed my family would be all safe and alive?”

Ron dropped his hands, and used them to vehemently add, “It's nowhere, mate. Doesn’t matter how hard I look, it’s _nowhere_."

Harry had dropped his head again, his hands on the seat rests. He lifted one of them to wipe at his eyes under his glasses; Ron sniffled as his nose started to get congested with the tears he was refusing to let free.

Now that he had braved the first part of his answer, he found it slightly easier to continue. He sighed, and finished what he had to say.

"So yeah, I would have mostly made the exact same choices, right back to the moment I thought maybe we could be friends. I wish as hell I could change what happened to Fred, but I can't, and we have to learn to live with that. And you too, Harry. Don’t think for a moment that I regret being your friend, because I don’t. Besides, how else would you have gotten to really know my sister? You help her, she helps you. Between Ginny and I, we have a chance at keeping you from beating yourself too much. Apparently, you need at least two Weasleys to get sense into that hard head of yours."

Harry let out a mirthless laugh. "I should have learned by now that there's no point in arguing with a Weasley. She’s been saying similar stuff to me these past few days. I don’t know why you two care."

Ron laughed the same kind of laugh. He got up, and patted his mate on the shoulder as he went to the kitchen. Having made the effort to open up like that had left his chest as empty as his stomach felt. Besides, food had the potential to make him forget the awkwardness of it all. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Crookshanks took the post he had vacated on the sofa.

"I don’t know, either, but one day you'll learn not to. Until then, I'll be happy to prove you wrong when you start being a git. Now, fancy some breakfast?"

* * *

 

Hermione woke up sweating, Ron's shirt twisted around her waist. It was wound so tight that it felt like a rope, which explained the nightmare she was having and the scenes of battle and torture plaguing her. Not that she wanted to remember the horrendous dream at all.

She lifted her hand to her throat, to feel the healed mark that the knife had left behind. If it had healed, it meant that it had happened a while ago and she had survived. That's what she had to keep in mind.

She looked at the clock, the numbers glowing in a faint red light against the morning sun. It read _10:38 am_ , yet Hermione wasn't shocked at how late it was already. Her sleep was so fretful these days that it took a long time for her to get the rest she needed.

She sat up and straightened the shirt, remembering the last time she had seen Ron wear it. It had been at Shell Cottage. They had been sitting on the beach next to each other, his arm resting on the sand behind her back. She was still in a lot of pain from Bellatrix's torture, and he had been trying to distract her by telling her stories of his family when they were growing up. At one point, she had laughed at a story of him and Ginny trying to plan revenge against the twins, and he had looked at her in a way that filled her belly with butterflies. _I like to make you laugh_ , he had said. _I don't know what I would have done if we hadn't gotten out of that place in time to... to..._

Hermione hadn't replied; she had found no words. She had simply dropped her head to rest on his shoulder, feeling her heart skip a beat when he tenderly kissed her hair.

She laughed softly when she realised her heart had skipped a beat again. She missed him so much. She tried to not think of the fact he was half a world away, and that she wouldn't see him yet for a few weeks. This was probably going to come close to the longest they had ever been without contact, and every time she started thinking of it, the longing almost suffocated her. Having him within arm's reach for the past few months, all those intimate moments when nobody was looking, had thoroughly spoiled her. Now, all she had was the hope that her letters would reach him with her love written all over them.

He had been so wonderful, supporting her through everything they had gone through. Even if she needed him right now, she couldn't help but think that his family needed him more, and she didn't want to be selfish. How horrible to think of what they had lost in the war. Knowing the Weasleys, she knew they would take a while to heal. They loved each other so much that she could only imagine the kind of sorrow they were feeling at losing Fred. If she had to name the biggest regret she had in having come to Australia in such a rush, it would be that she wasn't there to support them all, and especially Ron, through this.

What would he say? Would he understand, or would he be mad at her? Knowing him, he would be hurt even if he understood. Hopefully the letters would be enough to make him see that she wished she could be there to support him. Even if they never became a proper couple, she was Ron's friend, and wanted to hold him and make him feel better somehow.

If she were to be honest, she was also afraid of what the Weasleys might think of her for having come to Australia when they needed all the support they could get. That is, if she was welcome at all to go to them and try to be there for them. She technically wasn't a part of the family, just a friend. It was different with Harry, as he didn't really have a family of his own and she knew for sure that the Weasleys loved him like one of their own. As for her, she thought they liked her, but she knew it wasn't the same. She only was Harry and Ron's friend; maybe she wouldn't have been welcome at the Burrow at the moment anyway.

If she wasn't welcome at Ron's home, and her parents didn't know they had a daughter, Hermione thought she was close to being a homeless orphan. For the first time, she truly understood Harry's longing to belong somewhere. Now that she was feeling like she had no place to call home and nobody to call her own, she desperately needed to find a way to go back to her world and make it all right again.

That could only happen if she began by getting her parents back into her life. And today that could happen, right after the moment she knocked at her parent's door.

She ordered breakfast and got ready, nervousness growing steadily in her belly. By the time she got in the taxi taking her to her parents' house, she was wringing her hands and biting her lip with anxiety.

She got out of the car right outside the house. She was rooted to the spot for a moment, but soon forced herself to walk up to the door. Then, before her bravery left her, she rang the doorbell with one hand while the other held her wand surreptitiously.

Time stretched before her, each second feeling like hours. She had planned things carefully: when one of her parents opened the door, she would cast a spell to confuse them and convince them they had been waiting for her. Then, safely inside the house, once they were all sitting on the couch, she would put them to sleep for their own safety. Finally, she would prepare the complex magic she needed to reverse the effects of the spell she had used on them, executing each step carefully in the hopes that next time her parents opened their eyes, they would recognize her as their daughter.

A minute or two had passed, and she rang the bell again. She expected her parents to be putting away the groceries, which they had traditionally gotten every Saturday after breakfast. But what if they had abandoned that weekend ritual when they arrived to Australia? She had based most of her decisions around them being at home at this moment. What if--

The door opened and a middle-aged blond woman appeared at the door.

"Yes, darling? How can I help you?"

Something was wrong. This woman was not her mother. Hermione jumped a little and effectively stopped herself from casting a spell on this woman.

"Uhm... I'm looking for... for Monica and Wendell Wilkins?" Hermione hated the way her voice shook, but she couldn't do anything about it with her heart beating that way.

"Sorry, who?" the woman asked, a bit concerned.

"Monica and Wendell Wilkins. They're dentists. They moved here at the end of August of last year."

"I'm sorry, darling. We've been living here since January and we never met the previous renters. Maybe if you contact the office that administers this property? Darling? Are you alright?"

_No, I'm not_ , she wanted to say. Instead, she quickly thanked the woman and left the place in a hurry.

* * *

 

Hermione barely made it back to her hotel. She had ran to get in the safety of the room, and once there, had rolled herself into the bed covers, like a cocoon. She expected her heart to stop ramming against her chest, but it didn't. Instead, now that she had gotten back to the only place that felt relatively familiar in all of Australia, she realised her heart was beating as fast as it had that day in the park.

Fear of going through the same experience filled her, causing her to breathe short and lightly.

_God, no, this doesn't help. Please, stop. Please!_

Hermione started crying, which only made things worse. She again felt like she was going to pass out, and dimly wondered that maybe she had developed some kind of heart disease from the torture. Why else would she feel so terrifyingly faint?

She tried controlling her breath, but found it impossible. She knew that she had to stop this, or something terrible could happen to her. If she died here, she knew, nobody would find her in _days_.

Her ears started buzzing as thoughts of death squirmed into her mind and took hold of her being. The room around her grew dark, and she felt hot and uncomfortable. Her lungs ached, and she felt breathless despite the quick rhythm in which her chest was moving, seeking air and desperate for the oxygen that seemed to have disappeared from the atmosphere.

Thoughts were racing in her mind, but she wasn't able to focus on anything but the way her chest _hurt_. Terror filled her and she started hyperventilating, as she was certain her body was on the brink of a heart attack.

_That's it_ , she thought. _I'm done. I'm dying._

Pain, so much pain! She had never felt like this… the darkness of the room, the lack of air, the dread, the agony.

_Tell me the truth, you little, filthy mudblood_. A weak voice full of malice and terror demanded, spit spraying her face.

_HERMIONE! HERMIONE!_

Someone was calling her name, the voice that uttered the words now clearer and stronger.

_I am going to kill you if you don’t tell me the truth! CRUCIO!_

No, no, she couldn't continue with this.

_HERMIONE!_

Enough _._

_I love you_ , she thought. _I'm ready to die_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, yeah. I stole an hour to post this. I’m getting ugly looks. I hope to post the next one sometime in the next couple of weeks!  
> Thanks to everyone who has favorited or followed this story, and especially to those who leave reviews because they seriously make my day!


	5. All Alone

"George?"

Ron knocked on his brother's door, looking at the plate and glass that someone had left there on the floor earlier that day. It was late Saturday afternoon, and George had yet to get out of his room. No sound came from within now, even after Ron had knocked a second time.

Ron picked up the food that looked untouched, and called into the room again. "I'm coming in, alright?"

He slowly opened the door. The curtains were drawn, the window closed, so that the air was dark and stuffy from the long summer's day. Ron automatically looked at George's bed, only to find it empty. After the tiniest moment of panic, he realised that his brother was in Fred's bed instead, wrapped in the covers.

Ron's heart fell to the ground. He stayed at the door, glued to the floor for a moment, knowing that if his own heart was broken by the loss of Fred, George's should be completely shattered.  He gulped, unsure of how to proceed.

Slowly, he took a few steps and sat on the side of Fred's bed, leaving the food and the glass on the side table. George didn't move.

"Hey. You haven't been eating," he commented, for lack of knowing any better words.

Ron looked at George’s face, and saw his eyes were open. He wasn't sleeping, then, he was just ignoring him.

"By the smell of you, you haven't been showering, either," Ron added, trying to get George to react.

He didn't. Ron bit the inside of his lip, still hesitant. Ron decided that if he didn't _know_ what to do, then his gut might come to the rescue. He would follow his instincts and hope for the best.

"Alright, look. I can't imagine what you're going through. You two shared a bond that was like nothing anybody else in this family could understand. But you have to know we're all grieving, too."

A few moments passed by, the silence filling the room as Ron waited for an answer.

"Just leave," George finally said.

Ron shuffled his own hair. What could he say, that would get George to _do_ something? That could help him in any way to pull himself back to the world of the living? "It won't bring him back to push all of us away."

George turned in the bed, so that he was looking away from Ron.

Ron huffed. He didn't know if he was more angry than sad at the situation, and ended up being stuck between both.

He got up and walked to the door, thinking that pushing George too much would probably not help in any way. He paused at the threshold. "I get that you’re sad and angry. But you have to get out of it eventually. You either do it on your own, or I'll make you."

Ron gently closed the door behind him. He stayed there for a moment, and couldn't help but jump when the unmistakeable sound of glass breaking resounded against the door. He remained there, his hand still on the knob, observing the pool of water coming through the gap under the door. Ron had assured George that he would make him return to his life, but he had to admit he had no idea how he was going to do it.

* * *

 

Ron woke up suddenly the next day, feeling like his heart was lodged in his throat, threatening to suffocate him. He opened his eyes and looked around, trying to figure out if anything was happening that had caused him to wake up in terror. The house was silent, though, and he figured he had had a bad dream.

He hadn't been having too many of those, luckily, perhaps only because you needed to sleep to dream, and Ron wasn't sleeping much. It had made his days last a lot longer, making him think too much. To distract himself, he was trying to keep himself busy, which was easy. Although neither Ron nor anybody was in the mood to play Quidditch or do whatever they would usually do in summer, there was plenty to do. There was lots to clean, since the house had been sitting empty for several months. If cleaning didn't cut it, he had been helping to cook for the family, trying to help Fleur or trying to decipher his mum's handwritten recipes.

He had always known where she kept the carefully written cards, mostly untouched for years since she knew them all word by word. He had never looked at them before, but now spent some time reading them every day. As he started to practice cooking, trying to follow the instructions to the letter, he had quickly realised that cooking gave him a sense of accomplishment. Not only did it allow him to make whatever he felt like eating, but it also provided for an easy way to take care of his family.

Evidently, everybody understood why his mum wasn't cooking or doing much of anything. Now, a week after the final battle, she was spending a bit more time out of her room, doing a few things here and there. Ron was glad to see it. She didn't look happy, nobody did. But it seemed that she was on the way to mending, and that gave him a sense of gratitude he tried to cling to when his own sadness threatened to come loose.

So chores, cooking, and restless hours in bed, trying to sleep but always staying in that annoying half-sleeping limbo. That's what his days had been like this past week. Grueling and boring, which fit his mood perfectly.

He sat up, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. He lazily reached for the clothes he had hung over the bedframe, and started to dress for the day.

He was exhausted, of course. Not sleeping was taking its toll, but he simply was unable to stop the thoughts that plagued his mind every night. He thought of George and of Fred. He kept seeing the flash of light that had sealed his brother's coffin, with a finality that had been as heartbreaking as George's cries. He thought about his family, too, and Harry. And after a few hours, when he was too tired to fight it, he thought about Hermione.

Sometimes, all he could do was worry about her. He hadn't heard from her, and had no idea how to seek her out and check that she was doing alright. He knew how much she needed to find her parents and get them back to normal; back to England. It had been horrible for her when she had come to the Burrow after wiping their memories, crying herself to sleep on his shoulder in desolation and guilt. He could only hope that she was with them now, or close to finding them, and that she was safe. He couldn't help worrying that maybe she had run into problems, or how she was faring alone in a place so far away. Not because he didn't think she could handle things or protect herself, it was just—call him whatever you wanted, but he couldn't help but worry. Minutes would stretch into hours, and he spent every second wishing he could make sure Hermione was doing alright, hoping she would return as soon as the borders were open again.

Other times, though... sometimes, all he felt was upset that she had left like that, no notice, all of a sudden. Especially because he had told her he wanted to go with her. Hadn't he? Now he was forced to go through this alone, the worst summer of his life, in a way that was completely different from what he had imagined. Before the final battle, he had dared to hope that after all was said and done, they would go to Australia together, they could spend time together, and maybe finally start the relationship he had dared to dream about to help him push through the dark nights of war.

Yes, Hermione had kissed him. In his best moments, he was able to think that it was proof she might feel something for him like he did for her, and that when she came back, they could see if the kiss meant everything he had hoped for. He could imagine that all those fireworks and pure joy he had felt alongside her lips on his, meant they had a future together. The problem was that those were rare moments. Most of the time, Ron thought that it had probably been just a fleeting fancy for Hermione. Why else would she have left like that? Not telling him, not caring he had offered?

He found himself holding one of his trainers, and without much thought, he threw it against the wall.

The resounding echo was loud in his ears, and he immediately felt guilty to have done it in a moment of weakness.

If there was anything he knew for sure, was that he had to be careful not to let his feelings get the better of him. Everyone had a lot to deal with; he didn't want to be a weight on anybody. At the same time, though... he missed her. So much. And it made him sad, and it made him angry, all at the same time. He wanted to see her face, to know she was alright, and maybe even talk to her about all that muck and that grip on his heart that didn't seem to want to move at all. Even if they were not a couple, they were friends, and he missed all of her so much.

It wasn't like Ron had many options. There was nobody, really, that he could talk to.

He opened his door with the intention of going to the bathroom, but there wasn't much more than a gap to his room before he saw an orange paw indicating Crookshanks wanted to come in. Ron let him in, slightly surprised at seeing him all the way up in his room.

"What are you doing here? I have nothing for you," Ron blurted, still confused as to what he wanted up here with him. Ron saw him walk across his room directly to his tiny desk, where he jumped and started pawing at a stack of papers.

"Wait, stop!" Ron said, going to where the little ginger demon—he didn't care much for the pet, either way, but he was too used to abusing him— was standing. As he got close to Crookshanks, he realised he had pulled out a few letters he had stuck between magazines the previous summer.

He looked at the carelessly folded pieces of paper, and felt a pang in his chest when he recognized the script half covered by a furry paw.

"Merlin," Ron exclaimed, shocked once again at the cat's intelligence. "Are you trying to ask me about Hermione?"

Crookshanks patted the piece of paper twice.

Ron sat on his desk's chair, an elbow on it and his head resting on his hand. This way, he could look at the cat in the eyes.

"Sorry, mate. She won't be coming here anytime soon."

"Meow?"

Was he going crazy, that he was almost sure that had been a question?

"I _think_ you're asking something, but I don't know exactly what," he replied conversationally. "If you're asking when she's coming back, it will still be a few weeks. If you're asking where she is, well... would you get it if I told you she's in bloody Australia?"

This time Crookshanks didn't move at all, or give any sign of understanding what Ron had said. After a few moments, he seemed to give up, and curled on top of the letters for a nap.

"I get the way you're feeling, Crookshanks," he commented as he stood up again to finally leave his room. "I miss her, too."

Ron smirked and left his room, stopping in the bathroom before going to the kitchen to make breakfast for everyone.

If talking to a cat didn't prove that he didn't have anyone to talk to, then nothing would. After all, it wasn't like Ron and Harry _had conversations_ , much. They were bad at talking about anything emotional, or anything private. They got awkward. They did, sometimes, like their recent conversation showed. But somehow, it seemed that for both of them was easier to talk to either Ginny, for Harry, or Hermione, for Ron.

Through the years, and especially since during their last couple of years at Hogwarts, Ron had learned to talk to Hermione and to her alone. So much so, that sometimes he wondered how it was possible to feel like they had two types of relationships; one when they were alone, and one when there were  people around. Their quiet talks weren’t always easy or fluid; whether at the Gryffindor common room or somewhere in the Burrow, they both seemed to like having those private jokes and simple moments, just the two of them. They had almost completely stopped after he left her during the hunt, and although they had started talking again in Shell Cottage, they hadn't quite regained the comforting ease of knowing they had each other to turn to.

Maybe because he remembered how much it used to help him, and how much he missed having that, but he wasn't mad at Harry for spending so much time with Ginny. Ron didn't know when exactly they had gotten back together, and he didn't really want to know. Harry was getting in the habit of coming to his cot late, or sneaking out of it bright and early. Ron was sure that all those hours were times when Harry and Ginny were together, but Ron didn't want to think of that. He was trying to be happy for his friend and his sister, and he _didn't_ need nor want to know what they got into when together and alone. No need to gross himself out that way. And despite being slightly concerned for his little sister, he tried to tell himself that she probably knew what she was doing. And, honestly? He knew his friend. He knew his sister. And he was pretty sure that Ginny was helping him to cope with everything.

He crossed the threshold to the kitchen, to find that Fleur, Bill, and Charlie had already begun breakfast. As he offered to help, he forced his nightly thoughts out of his mind. They could wait until dark. His family needed him now.

* * *

 

_Dear Ron,_

_I'm sorry to begin my second letter this way, but I don't have anyone else to turn to. Talking to you can either make me annoyed, give me great joy, or make me feel better again when I've been upset. I'm hoping that writing this letter will give me the latter._

_My parents are not living in the house I rented for them anymore. I feel so lost, and so scared that I won't find them at all. All I can think of is trying to get the Australian Ministry of Magic to help me. They gave me a debit card, but I've tried to not use it and instead I'm using the savings account my parents set up for me when I was little. I wanted to avoid getting them involved in the search itself, thinking I knew where they lived, but now I have no idea how else to try to look for them. I need to find them soon. I'm dearly hoping the search won't take too long. I need something good to happen, you know?_

_How's Harry doing? And Ginny? George? All of your family? Please give them my love, and tell them I'm thinking of everyone. My heart is torn in three parts right now: the part that mourns for your family, the part that longs for my parents, and the part that thinks of you. I'm sure Crookshanks is alright, but if you're willing, I'd appreciate it if you petted him a bit from me._

_I'm sorry if I'm being too direct, but I don't have the energy to pretend I'm not missing you loads._

_Love, Hermione_

* * *

 

Hermione folded the sheet of paper and put it in an envelope, carefully sealing it and writing Ron's address on it. She knew she should have told him about the incident from the previous night. She had woken up with a jump the following morning, feeling incredibly groggy and confused. She had put a hand on her heart, to feel it beating strongly and steadily. She repeated the gesture now, wondering again if maybe she had some sort of heart disease. Since she wasn't sure, and knew Ron would worry for her and be upset that he couldn't do anything about it from England, she chose to keep it off the letter. Why do that to him, especially knowing everything he was going through at the moment.

She went out, stopping at the post office to send this new letter to Ron. Then she followed the hotel host's directions and went to the library. She had a lot of research to do on heart health and its diseases, after all.

* * *

 

Ron puffed the last of the pillows on the couch, and looked around the room in appreciation. If he were to be honest, he wasn't enjoying the chores, really, just that they kept him busy. He would make no promises that this behaviour would last, but for as long as he felt this need to keep himself in control, he would use anything at his disposal to keep his hands occupied.

"Ron?" Harry came down the stairs, Ginny behind him.

"Hey," he answered. "What's up?"

"We're going to Andromeda's. She invited us for dinner, and I want to see Teddy. Want to come?"

"Nah," he said. "You go. I'll go find Mum and see if she needs me to do anything."

Ginny was looking strangely at him, but he ignored it.

"Sure. See you later, then?"

"Yeah," he said. He watched them hold hands and Disapparate.

He stayed where he was for a moment, as if he still could see the way they had just held hands so naturally. Still thinking about it, he finally turned to look for his mum, whom she found at the vegetable patch she kept right outside the kitchen, a jet of water falling from her wand to the greens that had been on the verge of dying.

"Can I help you with anything, Mum?"

"I'm fine, dear."

"Sure. I'll make dinner, then," he replied, and turned to go back to the kitchen. His mum reached for his arm at the last moment, keeping him there with her.

"Ron, I've been meaning to talk to you now for a few days," she said.

Ron wondered what was on her mind. "Is everything alright?"

She looked at him, and he could see the same sorrow that was in everybody's eyes, even his own when he looked on the mirror. She must have been crying recently; her eyes were red-rimmed.

"How are you doing, Ron? You've been helping everybody here, so much. You had never really done the cleaning unless told to, before. And I didn't know you were interested in cooking."

"I didn't, either. It's fine, though. I like it. The cooking, that is. There's this recipe I've been trying to understand. Can I bring it?"

"Of course, in a minute. Just tell me, are you doing alright? I'm a bit worried about you."

Ron crossed his arms, uncomfortable. He shrugged a shoulder, dismissive. "If you want, I can just lock myself in my room instead."

A look from her, her mouth pursed in a mix of annoyance and hurt, and he was sorry at his answer. She had been locking herself in her room, after all.

"Sorry 'bout that," he sincerely said. "I didn't mean it. But there's nothing to be worried about. I'm sad, but I'm fine."

"Are you sure? We're all grieving differently, but I'm not sure I'm seeing you grieving at all. You've been a great help to everybody in the house, but you should not forget to help yourself, too."

"Just because I'm trying to make sure everyone's alright, it doesn't mean I'm not upset," he countered, getting defensive.

His mum sighed. "I know. That's not what I mean. All I'm trying to say is that you also deserve to grieve."

Ron scoffed. "That's what dad said."

"Well, he's right."

"And I said, I'm grieving in my own way. I am."

"Ginny and Harry have each other. Your dad and I have each other. Bill and Fleur. Charlie and Percy have been supporting each other. We all have been trying to help George. Who's helping you, dear? You need to lean on somebody. We're all here for you. It will make it easier," She gently insisted.

Ron knew his mum was trying to make sure he was doing fine, and not trying to point out he was alone. He knew _for sure_ she didn't mean to make him think of Hermione's absence, but he was, anyway. It was impossible for him not to think of her; he did many, many times a day. He saw the way Fleur consoled Bill, or the way his parents relied on each other. He realised now that seeing how Harry and Ginny had held hands had made him aware of his loneliness even more, even if he had had no words to name the way he felt at the time. He had no answer for his mum, so he didn't say a thing.

"Have you heard from Hermione?" she asked, her voice soft and concerned.

Ron looked up to the sky, squinting at the sun as it neared the horizon, tainting the clouds in a bright orange.

"You don't have to worry, Mum. I'm _fine_." He lowered his face again, to look at her with as much confidence and determination as he could muster.

She looked at him intensely, forgetting her wand for a moment, its point static in one position over the vegetable patch. Finally, she let out a sigh of resignation, and lifted her hand to his face. "Alright, then."

Run started to turn to enter the kitchen, but his mum stopped him once more.

"Wait," she said, her hand dropping to hold his forearm. "There's something else. I wanted to tell you how proud we are of you."

Ron's ears turned hot in his embarrassment and surprise. He wasn't expecting that, at all. "Mum, I... I didn't really... well..." he said, at a loss for words.

"You've grown up so fast. You made a difference in our world. When I think about what you've been through, I..." she pursed her lips again, nodding her head from side to side, this time to try to stop herself from crying. It seemed like she was at a loss of words, as well.

"It's alright, Mum," Ron said, a little panicked to see his mum so full of emotion. It didn't usually happen; his mum was always so strong. It had happened more and more of late, though, and it always terrified him a bit. He put a hand on her shoulder, patting her in a nervous attempt to comfort her. "Don't cry, please?"

"Come here," she said, opening her arms wide. The jet of water was still going off her wand, but he ignored it and awkwardly bent to hug her, feeling emotional himself. "You're a fine man, Ron. When we look at you, we know we did something right." Her voice came out in a high pitch, as she tried to contain her crying.

"You did an incredible job," he said with conviction, patting her back now. "I know we don't say it often, but we... but I..." Ron whispered, not trusting his voice to speak.

"I love you, too," she said, squeezing him with surprising strength for such a small woman. She let go of him, wiping her face. "Now go. Bring me that recipe, and we'll make it together for dinner."

Ron smiled, his chest feeling a bit lighter, as he turned towards the kitchen.

* * *

 

Hermione closed her room's door behind her, and walked slowly to the bed, where she let herself fall. She had been holding close to a hundred pages worth of photocopies, which now had splayed all over the bed as she had let them loose.

In a deep corner of her awareness, she knew she would have never risked the pages to lose their carefully set place before, but she couldn't find the strength to care right now. She knew she would read them all again the following morning, just to make sure she hadn't misunderstood what might be happening to her. She'd put everything in order again then. Now, she could only think of what her research had resulted in.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. PTSD, for short, like the psychiatrists often called the collection of symptoms she had read so many times she had lost count. If she hadn't thought to look for trauma-induced heart diseases, she might have never found it. The only thing she wasn't sure of was whether she _actually_ had a heart disease or not, because she had been _certain_ her heart would stop. But as of now, short of her paying for a private doctor to check on her, she didn't have a better diagnosis.

And it did make sense. If she assumed that she _wasn't_ sick, as impossible as it seemed when she remembered how she had felt during that attack, it _could_ be that this was PTSD. She had had a flashback, when she had thought she was back at the Manor at the hands of Bellatrix. She had insomnia. And she was having what sounded a lot like panic attacks.

She punched the bed, in a show of anger that gave her a weird surge of energy, like she hadn't really felt in days. She hated the idea of being that weak, of being so much of a fool that she couldn't identify what was real and what wasn't. How could she be so _sure_ she was going to die, when she probably was just _scared_? What a Gryffindor, to be panicking like that. How absurd, that her own mind would play tricks on her and convince her she was back at the worst moment she had ever gone through. Why would anyone do that to themselves?

Well, next time it happened, she would just have to control herself better. She would _really_ pay attention, and try to sense if her heart was _really_ alright. As soon as she went back to England, she would go to St. Mungo's and get herself checked.

All she needed was a stern talk-to. And because she had been the loneliest she had ever been, she would have to make sure to do it herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not agree with Hermione’s thinking on PTSD and what it says about someone who experiences this disorder, but I do think that, sadly, a lot of people do… including Hermione here. 
> 
> Also, thanks to everyone following this story, and a big cheer for those who take the time to review because I loooooooooooooooove reading them and gaaaaaaaah, I always want to gush about my reviewers :hearts:


	6. Transitions

Hermione closed the phonebook on her lap with a thud, frustration fueling her movement. She had been calling numerous dentistry clinics in Sydney, in the hopes she would find her parents practicing in the city. She had spent the last few days calling non-stop for hours at a time, despite knowing it was probably a futile endeavour.

It wasn't that she was being pessimistic, not this time. It was that she had already found their office the very first day, only to have the fleeting joy disappear in smoke.

A few days ago, when she had finally organized her mind and decided on a plan, she had started by looking at the phonebook provided by the hotel. In it, she had looked at all the dentistry entries, and had found the logo to a "Wilkins Dentistry" on the third page.

Her heart had beaten fast yet steadily. She remembered how it had felt like a hand was clutching her neck, allowing for just a tiny bit of air to go through. She had had to pace the room for a few minutes, before finally feeling like she could manage calling the number printed on blue ink over the yellow pages, if only with a single ounce of composure.

One, two rings, and a recorded voice had answered the call. It came like a shock to Hermione's heart. It was her mother's voice, very professional and direct: _dear clients, we're sorry to inform you this practice has been closed as we have decided to move away. Thank you for your loyalty, and we hope you find the services you seek elsewhere._

Hermione had set the phone on its place with a shaky hand, her mind blank, and absently wiped the tears she hadn't realised had started to fall.

For a minute or two or thirty, she had stared at the blue logo on the page in front of her, alternatingly blurry through her tears and clear and sharp when she dried them away. Her crying stopped after a while, but the emptiness in her heart didn't. She had finally gotten up and laid on the bed, and hours passed by unnoticed until the sun broke the following morning.

Back to the present, and now she was a little more active again, enough to actually try again to find them. First, she had called all the Wilkins registered on the phonebook, but had been unsuccessful. Then, thinking they had perhaps simply joined another practice, she had started calling every dentists' office.

Only she hadn't found them. She had called every office in the book, and had not found them.

Like she had done many times since first calling the numbers in blue, she punched the numbers to the closed Wilkins office, by now fully memorized. Her mother's voice came alive again on the phone, bringing with it a deep sense of longing and sadness.

_We hope you find the services you seek elsewhere_.

_No services_ , she thought, _just you and Dad_.  She hang up the phone and called once more, trying to collect the scraps of comfort provided by her mother’s recorded voice.

What could she do? What else could she try, to find her parents? Her hands were tied; she was in an unknown country, where her parents had had the freedom to move around and make decisions about their lives like the fully grown adults they were. They could even have left Australia, for all she knew! She had always known it was one of the many risks in the plan she had devised to keep them safe.

No, there was nothing she could do and, in her desperation, she wondered if maybe the whole trip was cursed. No parents, no Ron; health issues and isolation. Nothing was going well! It didn't matter what she tried, everything was hopeless and anything she tried to find her parents brought her to a dead end. There was no way of knowing what had happened to them, why they had decided to close their practice, or where they were. She was stuck in Australia, alone, missing everyone she loved, and failing to do anything about it.

Somehow, it made it worse to think that her parents didn't miss her back. They didn't even know she existed. As for Ron? It had only been a week since she had sent the first letter, so he probably hadn't received it yet. That meant that he probably was still thinking that she didn't care about him or his family. Why was everything going so wrong?

_May 15_

_Dear Ron,_

_I write this letter knowing that the chances of you having received even one of my previous letters would qualify it as a miracle. I can only hope that even in the absence of hearing from me, you know that I think of you and your family and Harry all the time._

_I'm writing because as simple as it is, it makes me feel a little closer to you. There's nothing to tell, really, and that's partly why I need to write to you. I'm so sad, so spent! I've been trying so hard to find my parents, but have been horribly unsuccessful. Despite what I said in my last letter, I still tried to find them on my own.  I found the office they used to have, but they have closed it. My mum recorded a message explaining they had decided to move elsewhere; I don't know if she meant another office or another city altogether. Oh, Ron, you have no idea what it was like to hear my mother's voice. I don't understand why they closed it, and have no idea where they are now.  I have nothing else left to do. I don't know how to find them on my own, so I'm forced to do what I talked about, and ask the Ministry for help._

_I don't know what I'll do if I can't find them._

_I'm sorry, I feel like I'm just rambling on this letter._

_They can't open the English borders soon enough. Not that I could leave right away if I haven't found my parents by then, but I think that perhaps I would stop feeling so trapped._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

She decided to take a walk to post the letter. If it took two to three weeks to reach him, like she expected, then the borders might be open in England again. But if she hadn't found her parents, she knew she would still be in Australia.

After wandering for a little bit, she sat on a bench in a park. She observed the kids playing on the playground, their voices high-pitched in delight. Their happiness contrasted so much with the way she felt inside; dense, heavy, and barely moving. She felt... like there was nothing there. Nothing good, in any case.

With a heavy sigh, she shook her head as if to clear it. Then she took the phone she carried in her pocket, and dialed the Minister's secretary.

"Hello? Yes, I need to ask for help," she said, trying to swallow the shame she fought to push aside.

* * *

 

Breakfast at the Burrow that Monday morning felt different. Since the Final Battle more than two weeks ago, Ron had gotten used to having everyone squeezing close together around the table for every meal. This past Saturday, Charlie, and Bill and Fleur had left the Burrow. With four people missing --Fred would forever be missing-- suddenly there was too much room in the kitchen. Also, now Ron was the only one consistently cooking in the house, and he was shocked at realising just how much time it took to try to make every meal for the family. To top it off, Bill and Ron had taken up to playing chess at night, and him leaving meant he had no partner anymore.

Ron found himself thinking of Bill often. Ron had looked up to Bill ever since he could remember. He was so brave, so intelligent, so admired, and handsome enough that he could get any bird he wanted! Proof of that was he had married a half-veela. Ron now saw how he had always kind of hoped he would have the same sort of life that Bill had. He wasn't sure he was in any way close to that, including the part of getting the bird _he_ particularly wanted. But Bill had always seemed to _understand_ Ron in a way the others didn't. And seeing him with Fleur gave him something new to wish for himself: a relationship that was so much like a partnership.

He hoped he'd have that with Hermione one day. Even in the middle of that hope, doubts were becoming closer to overpowering everything else. As time passed by, it was more and more difficult to think that it was a possibility for them. If she hadn't kissed him, he would be _certain_ she had no interest in him that way. She had kissed him, though, and he had a _tiny_ bit of hope. Still, until Hermione returned from Australia, he was nowhere near to figuring out if there was any sense in holding on to the visions he had of being with Hermione the way he hoped for.

In other words, he could summarize it by saying that Hermione made the fifth person missing from his side at the moment.

Ron understood why Hermione had gone, even if it made him angry and made him feel rejected. He also understood why some of his family had to leave the house. Life might have irrevocably changed for Ron's family, but it hadn't stopped. He supposed that they had been lucky that they had been able to grieve together as a family, taking time off from their responsibilities to simply be with each other and mourn the loss that would always feel like a heavy weight on their hearts. But they had all fought to keep the wizarding community safe, and they couldn't abandon it now. There was so much to do; so much that they still needed to take care of.

As he had said bye to Bill, his eldest brother had put a hand on his shoulder, and claimed he felt he could trust Ron to keep an eye on everyone. He had also said things to the effect of how much Ron had grown and matured and how proud Bill was of him, but Ron was trying not to think too much about it. That wasn't what was really important from what Bill had said that evening. What really mattered was that both Bill and Ron felt it was important he kept track of everyone, but especially of George, who was still acting like a ghost; his mum, who was coming out of her room more often but was still most decidedly not like herself; and even Percy, who without Charlie around seemed to walk around the house a little lost.

Ron realized he had barely talked to Percy since the battle. It was strange; perhaps he had gotten used to not having him around. Besides, Charlie and Percy had always been closer to each other, funny as it was. Charlie was a free soul, while Percy...

Did Ron even know Percy anymore? Ron had been so angry at him, but then he had returned when it had mattered the most. Maybe the bloke deserved a chance.

"I received an Owl from Kingsley earlier this morning," Arthur announced, taking Ron out of his thoughts. "He wrote that he needs our help with the Ministry. He's going to come pay us a visit to explain everything in about half an hour. He said he hopes all of us will be here and willing to hear what he has to say."

"Do you know why?" Harry asked.

"I have a few ideas," Arthur shrugged. "But we'll know pretty soon."

Everyone helped clean the kitchen from the breakfast mess. Right on time, Kingsley made an appearance through the highly monitored Floo Network. Slowly and in a disorganized way, all of them moved to the sitting room, where they greeted the new Minister and began to settle to hear what he had to say. While Ron waited for his turn to shake Kingsley's hand, he noticed that Shacklebolt made a point of asking his mum about how she was doing. Ron thought it was nice of him, and made him respect Kingsley even more.

After all of that was done, they all tried to get comfortable and waited for Shacklebolt to tell them the reasons behind his visit.

"First of all, I want to express again my gratitude as a friend first. We spent a long time trying to defeat Voldemort, doing our best as the Order of the Phoenix, and during all of it I knew I could trust all of the Weasleys to fight until the end. But now, as the temporary Minister of Magic, I also represent the wizarding community. I also want to thank you in their name."

"It's what needed to be done," Molly said.

"It may have been. But not everybody who could and should have joined the fight did. So I thank you. All of the Weasleys were crucial in one way or another to win the war. Almost in the same way Harry was."

Ron looked at his friend, who looked really uncomfortable. "Please don't," Harry begged in a whisper, looking at the floor.

"Don't worry," Kingsley replied with a rumbling chuckle. "I'm not going to say much more about that. Arthur warned me not to. But I needed to thank you."

Harry didn't reply. Ron smirked, knowing how uncomfortable his friend was without even needing to look at him.

"So you all must be wondering why I'm here," Shacklebolt finally started. "These past two weeks have been incredibly busy, trying to stop all the fleeing Dark Wizards and trying to set up a decently functioning Ministry. Truth be told, it's been difficult. To do what must be done, I need people I can trust. That's why I come to you today."

Everyone seemed to be looking around, gauging each other's reactions.

"To be honest," Kingsley continued, "I don't have a clear idea of every person we'll need; new positions that need to be filled seem to be coming up each day. But I do know that we desperately need some of you. Arthur, we would like you to be in charge of your department. Percy, I would like you to work in my office. What do you say?"

"I would be honored," Arthur asserted.

"Are you sure?" Percy asked, evidently unbelieving. "I was working for the past Minister, and he was on the wrong side of the war!"

"And that has an incredible potential to be useful to us. It could answer many of the questions we have as a team. You know what was happening before. You have _intel_ , of sorts. And you obviously chose the right side, in the end."

"But..."

"Are you trying to tell me I can't trust your judgement? Your loyalty to the new Ministry?"

Percy stiffened, coming to a decision. "Of course that's not what I'm saying. You can trust me."

"Then come work for me."

"It will be my pleasure," Percy said.

"Thank you, Arthur. Thank you, Percy. Do you think you can start working with us this week?"

"I think we'll manage," Arthur declared.

Fast, not taking time to rest between topics, Kingsley continued with the items on the list he seemed to have in mind.

"Next, there's something else I'd like to discuss. As you may imagine, Harry's defeat of Voldemort saved our society, but it didn't change the morals some of the Dark Wizards have held for years and years. Most of them are lying low, trying to hide or to flee. A few, though, are causing us problems. I'm shamelessly going to use the same argument I used before: I need help from people I can trust." He paused and sighed. Ron could see the man was tired. "I have heard from a reliable source of the existence of such a thing as Dumbledore's Army. I understand Harry, Ron, and Hermione were amongst the leaders. I would like to ask of you that you give me a few names of people that belonged to the Army that are trustworthy, and would perhaps want to join the Aurors. There are not nearly enough Aurors in the department, after we cleaned it out of the corrupt groups that had infiltrated it. For that reason, whoever joins would go through the minimum required training and would be sent off to the streets. We need Aurors out there right now, and I believe anyone with that kind of sense of loyalty and dedication to fighting the Dark Arts and Dark Wizards would be already close to know what needs to be known."

"I... I can give you a few names," Harry said, evidently out of sorts.

"I was also hoping that you and Ron, and Hermione when she comes back, would like to join the force, too," Shacklebolt added, as if it should have been obvious that the trio should be a part of that team.

Ron was shocked to the point he had to remind himself to breathe again. There was no time to figure out what he felt about it, though, for Kingsley continued with his speech right away.

"I want you to think about it, but I would love to have you there. You probably can't grasp yet the importance of what you three did. As an Auror and now as the Minister, I've always known the importance of having a team and people who are as efficient and skilled as they are trustworthy. I understand how much each of you was necessary to win this war. At the same time, I do want you to know all of the options you have at your disposal. I asked permission from Professor McGonagall to let you know, in confidence, that the school should reopen for normal school year in September, and every student who wishes to finish their education will be welcome. That offer extends to the three of you, and Ginny, too."

Ron didn't say anything. He had always dreamed of becoming an Auror, but after leaving school to go on the Horcrux hunt he had given up on that dream. Now it was being offered to them, and he couldn't shake off the surprise. Even in the middle of the shock and mixed feelings, there was one thing he knew: he would not be returning to Hogwarts.

"We'll think about it," Harry announced, seemingly as stunned as Ron was feeling.

"I didn't expect any other answer," Kingsley conceded.

Ron saw Kingsley gaze around, and he thought it looked like Shacklebolt was evaluating the people in the room. Even though Ron tried, he couldn't guess what the man was thinking.

"Would you like something to drink?" His mum said, seemingly trying to fill in the silence. Catching the tone of her voice, he sharply turned her eyes to look at her. It looked to him like she was hunching in her place, her shoulders low in resignation. That was not how his mum usually held herself, and it made him sad to think she was acting so differently from her usual self.

Kingsley smiled, but gestured a negative with his hand. "No, thank you. I'm almost done. I was just trying to decide if I should keep on going; I know I'm giving a lot of information and that you might be feeling tired of hearing me talk."

"Just go ahead and say everything you need to say," Arthur dismissed his concern. "We do want to help in any way we can."

"Alright, there's one more thing I would like to discuss with all of you. Have you noticed anything strange around the Burrow lately?"

"There's a few times when we've noticed people have tried to cross the wards. Luckily, nobody has been successful. So far, it's been a sad but peaceful couple of weeks," Arthur said.

"Well, as soon as you all start going out of the Burrow for any length of time, you'll surely notice things are not as peaceful outside. Everyone wants to know about Harry, and those close to him who helped him defeat Voldemort."

Ron glanced at Harry, who looked like he was feeling overwhelmed. Ron, knowing his friend, was sure he wasn't enjoying how this conversation was revolving around him again.

"There's not much you can do about it," Kingsley continued, "but I do think it's best if you all know what's happening and prepare for that. I'm sure you've seen the Prophet has been using old pictures of all of you for their articles on the war, but they're dying to get new pictures. Soon, they'll be dying to get new stories," he asserted.

Shacklebolt's comment came as a new layer of worry for Ron. When he had wondered about people's reactions to them in the castle, he had thought about people keeping an eye on them and talking about them. But somehow, he had not connected the dots and imagined that would happen to the degree that there would be stories about them in the Prophet. Ron had not been reading the newspaper. He would have to make the time to check later if there were any old copies of it.

"Any questions, comments, anything?" Kingsley said.

Ron was dying to ask something, but didn't want to do it in front of the family. He simply remained quiet.

“One last thing,” Shacklebolt announced. “During these past two weeks, everyone has been focusing on regrouping, mourning, and getting used to the fact that the war is over. Beyond the help I have already requested from you, there is not much else that I believe you can do at the moment. Just take care of each other. Still, the Ministry is planning to organize a celebratory ceremony in late July, to symbolize a new era in the English Wizarding World. We do not plan to make a big deal of celebrating people in particular, but we do plan to invite people who were crucial to winning the war. All of that, to let you know all of you will be invited. I thought I would let you know, so that it doesn’t come as a surprise when we announce it in late June or early July. Your presence will be the last official help we’ll be requesting of you.

“With that announcement, and unless there are any questions now, I bid you all farewell for the time being,” he said as he arose from his seat.

Ron got up as well, seeing as everyone shook hands and said bye to Shacklebolt, exchanging a few parting words in the process. _A ceremony?_ was all he thought as he waited for his turn. But then the one real concern he had at the moment took over, so that when his turn came, he tried to be as casual as possible when asking, "have you heard anything from Hermione--from Australia?"

"No, I'm sorry," he replied, his eyes softening for a moment. "I'll let you know if any communications come through."

Ron thanked Kingsley with a nod of his head, letting the next person come talk to him. He tried not to think of Hermione, and how she seemed to not be in any hurry to communicate with them. With _him_ , which didn't matter how selfish it made him, was what hurt the most.

* * *

 

"Hello?" Hermione answered the phone.

"We found them," said the now familiar voice of Lisa, the Minister's secretary. "Come to the Ministry, and we'll tell you all about it. We'll send someone to help Apparate you here, alright?"

Hermione was nervous the whole time she waited to be taken to the Ministry. She kept telling herself that this didn't mean the job was done, and that they wouldn't be waiting for her at the Lisa’s office. As the assistant they had sent held her arm to help her Apparate, she repeated in her mind over and over how this was just another step and there was much to be done. She did her best to relax, but she felt nauseous again as she Apparated to the Ministry and through the wards that protected it, worse than she had ever been when Apparating before.

"Oh, dear, are you alright?" Lisa said. "You look pale! Do you want a nice cup of tea?"

"Would love that, thank you," Hermione replied, hoping her hands wouldn't be shaking too much. Everyone nearby would hear the clinking of cup and plate clashing because of her shaking hands. She didn't want everyone to realise how bad she was at controlling herself.

"Here you go. I had just made a new pot. Honestly, you can't trust anybody to make a proper cup of tea outside of England," she said airily.

Hermione didn't reply. Her stomach was in a knot, which felt only slightly better as the warm tea settled on it.

"I'm sure you want to know about your parents. Luckily, it didn't take us long to find them, and it's all thanks to them being responsible English citizens. As immigrants to Australia, they not only filed all the appropriate taxes for the past fiscal year, but they have made sure to let the English Muggle Ministry know of their whereabouts. It is recommended by the Ministry that English citizens without any other family members still living in England do so, in case of an emergency or catastrophe, you know. Most people don't bother actually doing it, but between their taxes information and the English Consulate, we were able to find them."

Hermione tried to ignore the jab she felt at her parents declaring no other direct family members, and instead focused on how it all sounded almost too good to be true. She had been in Australia for more than two weeks, and had barely had any progress. Only four days after she asked the Ministry for help--which included a weekend in between! And yet, they had found them.

"Where... where are they?"

"They recently moved to Melbourne. Here's the information we were sent with their address. I'm assuming you would like to go there as soon as possible?"

"Yes, I'd very much like that."

"Then go back to your hotel while I make arrangements. Someone will bring the Portkey to you. Good luck with your parents!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the reviews and follows! This story is still incredibly important to me, and to know that people read it and like it means the world to me. Even more, I’m the most thankful for those who say that my Ron is well written. So many people bash him and distort who he is just to justify their own ships or whoever they prefer pairing Hermione with. To know that the way I write Ron feels true to who he is in the books makes me happy and a proud member of the #ronweasleydefensesquad.  
> Now, to the reviewer on FFN who thinks Harry is being an arse for not spending time with Ron, and for whomever might have been thinking similar thoughts: I guess I can’t blame you for not seeing all I see in my head, including the many potential scenes I did not add to this story. In my head, Harry and Ron are in fact spending some time together; sometimes on their own or sometimes with other people involved as well. I only actually wrote about one of those occasions in chapter 4, when Ron and Harry have the conversation about Harry’s guilt and the Weasleys’ involvement in the war. But, in my head, there are others. If I didn’t add them to this story is because (a) they do not belong to the plot and themes I chose for it, and they didn’t add to the story; (b) nothing really happens on those times, so it’s a lot like those weeks that Harry spent in the Burrow during summertime that Rowling didn’t write about, probably for the same reasons I’m not writing them: they would get repetitive and boring if they’re not helping to show something relevant for the story; and (c) I want to focus on the fact that Ron does feel lonely, in the same manner that you can spend time with people you love and still feel lonely because you miss someone especial for you, i.e. Hermione… (T_T)


	7. Patterns and Bridges

Ron wandered around the house, looking for a spot to sit and rest for a bit. He had fed Pig and played with him for a little while, and then had gotten busy cleaning the bathroom, by far his least favourite chore. As a prize for himself, he made a sandwich and settled on the steps right outside of the kitchen to eat.

The sun was intermittently covered by some clouds. A cool breeze was messing up his hair, which was pretty much the longest he had ever had it. It had been months since he had bothered with a cutting charm and, honestly? He wasn't in any hurry to get it shorter. There was simply no point to it, and he was far too lazy to care.

He chewed on the last bite of bread and swallowed fast, washing it all away with a few gulps of water. Then he put his hands on the floor behind his back, resting his weight on them, stretching his legs out and crossing his feet. He sighed, and closed his eyes to appreciate the nice weather.

Auror training. The words came to his mind with the same insistence they had of late, demanding he pay attention to them. Ron had the chance to become an Auror, and somehow the decision wasn't as easy as he would have imagined it to be.

He had always dreamed of becoming an Auror. He had abandoned the hope altogether when he had left Hogwarts, which meant failing to meet the requirements the Ministry demanded. Then, they had been on the run and in the middle of a war, so he hadn't really thought of what he would do after the war. It almost felt like jinxing himself to do so. Except when it came to Hermione, with whom he would always see himself in a hazy, peaceful future, happy and together. Outside of hoping there would be such a time where he would be free to kiss her and wake up late on the weekends, he had not made one single plan for himself after the war.

He had survived it, though. He _had_ a future, even if he hadn't given it more than a passing thought. Life right now felt a bit like limbo, so full of somber stillness that it felt oppressive, confined. Maybe it simply was that he was just so _tired_ , still unable to sleep much at night. In any case, he didn't feel like his life was open and full of possibilities, and therefore had not really thought about what he was going to do with himself.

Now that he thought about it, there were two choices, really. Hogwarts was out of the question, but Auror training was a way of getting educated in a respected career. He wasn't sure he felt the pull for adventure and justice that he had always related to being in the force; not after the war and seeing so much pain and destruction. Still, the need to protect the wizarding community was still there, and he could still see there was purpose in following that path.

Ron jumped out of his thoughts when something bumped and rubbed against his forearm. He half-turned his body to see what could possibly be touching him that way and...

"Meow?"

"Crookshanks? What are you up to?"

He saw the cat drop something next to Ron's long leg, and Ron picked the small metal thing between his fingers, thinking it was a tiny toy of sorts.

"Blimey," Ron said as he took a better look at it. It was one of Hermione's hair pins; one he saw she often used to try to keep a stubborn strand of hair out of her face.

If he wasn't mistaken, it was one of her favourites. It was brown, almost to the same shade of Hermione's hair, but decorated with a small and pretty crown. He had seen her wear it a few times. He had wondered about it, as she wasn't a witch to wear a lot of baubles on her. Ron hadn't known it had been in the house this whole time.

"Are you asking me about Hermione, again? Or is it that you're missing her?"

"Meow."

Ron didn't think about it, and absentmindedly petted Crookshanks' head, softly scratching behind his ears. He curled up next to Ron as if to take a nap, and Ron kept on petting.

"Me too, mate. I miss Hermione, too."

* * *

Hermione's new hotel room had a little balcony overlooking the city. She sat there that Friday evening, watching the thousand lights of civilization shine brighter as the sun set under the horizon.

In a strange manner, she knew such a sight would have seemed beautiful and even peaceful to her not so long ago. Sadly, it didn't give her any joy at the moment.

Hermione sat instead looking at the wand in her hand, rolling it between her fingers gingerly, and thinking about the kind of magic she would have to perform with that horrid piece of wood.

She had decided that she couldn't afford to take a few days to carefully plan a way to approach her parents, anymore. She had tried that route, and had ruined it completely. She had originally thought that if she took into consideration every detail and every possibility, she would be able to remain calm and carry out her plan successfully. It had all gone up in smoke when she had failed to predict all options. Then something had gone awry, and she had panicked to the point she had almost given herself a heart attack.

No, there was no point in pretending she was any good at strategizing. Besides, she was hoping they could all return to England as soon as they opened the borders in a couple of weeks, and she was sure her parents needed the time to settle any activities and do any paperwork they needed to return to their home. That meant she had to be ready to cast a powerful spell sometime in the next couple of days. Going to their parents' house during the weekend still seemed like the best idea.

She just had to convince herself that she could still do advanced magic, and that she could use this particular wand to do it. The wand a crazy woman had used to torture her and many others.

Just the thought of casting spells and charms made her feel like an undercurrent of electricity was running softly just below her skin. It was like her body was missing the use of magic, despite her mind loathing to use a wand she despised, her body almost nauseated at the thought.

Using the wand during the war had been different; first it was so she could impersonate Bellatrix, and then because it was the only wand she could use to fight in the Battle. Afterwards, though... afterwards, she hadn't been _forced_ to use magic, and now it was nearly three weeks since she had performed more than a few, simple spells. She was sure she hadn't used it at all in the last week, at least. Honestly, she wasn't looking forwards to using it again.

She couldn't get a new wand, though, and there was difficult magic she had to use.

Trying to ignore the revulsion she felt, she got up and walked determinedly into the room. It would be a long night for her, practicing spells until she felt she could be the kind of witch with the power to restore her parents' minds.

* * *

Hermione's hands were sweating and she felt terribly lightheaded. She was wearing one of Ron's long-sleeved shirts, their hem going well past her wrist. It helped hide the wand she was clutching like her life depended on it.

She rang the doorbell with a trembling hand, and had to force herself to breathe as she waited.

_Focus. FOCUS! Don't hesitate. Just focus._

"Yes?"

She was lovely. Hermione always had thought her mother was beautiful. Her smile usually made Hermione feel happy, but now she was simply frozen in her spot.

"Can I help you with anything?" Hermione's mum asked gently, her smile disappearing behind a look of concern.

" _Confundus_ ," Hermione cast with the faintest of voices. She saw her mum’s eyes lose their shine, becoming glassy and unfocused. She frowned and shook her head slightly as if trying to clear the fog Hermione had caused in her mind. "Thank you for inviting me in, I shouldn't take long."

"What? Oh, yes, yes, of course. Come on in,"

Hermione stepped into the room, barely noticing any details of their house. She sat down on the sofa her mum was pointing at with the soft and hesitant movements typical of someone _confunded._

"Is da-- Is Mr. Wilkins home?"

"Yes," her mum replied. "Wendell? Come here, honey,"

"Who was it?" He appeared through the hallway, a dishcloth in his hands.

Hermione had to hold back the tears that were threatening to flood her throat and blind her eyes. His dad seemed older than she remembered, but had the same kind eyes she had always loved.

"This young lady has something to tell us," her mum announced, finally sitting in one of the seats in the room.

"Well, hello," Hermione's dad said. "Are you from the Volunteering office? We've been waiting for you."

He sat in the other seat across from her, hanging the washing cloth over the armrest.

Hermione looked at her parents' faces, both of them looking back at her with openness and curiosity. Fear was bubbling in her, making her feel at loss and out of control. What if she ruined it? She had practiced for hours, but what if she failed? And what if she did it perfectly? There was always the matter of how they would react to what she had done.

She didn't have time to ponder and doubt, though. She couldn't let herself panic. She had to go ahead, and face whatever consequences came to be.

" _Cedo Venerunte_ ," she said subtly pointing her wand to her mum. Her dad, reacting instinctively at the light shining from Hermione's hand, stood up quickly and defensively, the seat scratching the wooden floors. Hermione quickly pointed her wand towards her dad, who looked like he was threatening to jump to attack Hermione. " _Cedo Venerunte_!" she yelled in fear and shock at feeling that way about her dad for the first time.

He fell to his knees in front of her, his face blank, eyes open wide in surprise. Her mum was still sitting on the seat, bearing much the same expression as her father. They slightly shook once, twice; small, short-lived seizures caused by fresh magic on their brains.

"I am so, so sorry," Hermione said, seeing their shaking bodies behind her now-closed eyeids. She bent over to rest her arms on her knees and her head on her arms, and finally broke down and cried.

Her sobs racked her body. She lost the little energy that had fueled everything up to this point. She knew that, despite the signs, she couldn't be sure whether the spell had worked or not. It still might have gone wrong. And now that she had let those emotions explode, she couldn't quite control herself enough to check. So she remained bent over, hiccupping and sobbing and hoping for the best.

"Hermione?" Her dad asked, his voice full of doubt. She couldn't move, but cried harder than she thought she could at hearing her name in his voice. "What...? How...?"

"I don't..." Hermione's mum said, almost in the same intonation as her dad.

Hermione finally lifted her head, her tears making her parents look blurry.

"I am SO sorry! I didn't know what else to do! Please understand, it was doing this or risking your death!"

"I couldn't remember I had a daughter," her mum said. "We came to Australia without knowing we had a daughter."

Her dad stood up, looking down at Hermione with the first signs of reproach. "You _made_ us forget we had a daughter, didn't you?"

Hermione couldn't reply, so she just nodded her head yes, looking pleadingly from her dad to her mum.

"Was Australia your idea, too?" Her mum asked this time, the first threads of anger apparent in her voice. "I had never had any intention to come here, but all of a sudden there was _nothing_ that could make me happier than coming to live here."

She nodded yes again, this time looking at the floor in guilt. She lost all hope that her parents would understand her motives, their actions both familiar and terrifying.

"So you used magic on us? Without our consent?" By now, her mum's voice was shrill. She knew her mum would soon explode.

"I just meant to protect you," Hermione finally was able to say, still pleading, still trying to make them understand.

"It was NOT your choice to make!" Her dad raised his voice, dripping with disapproval. "I thought we had taught you better!"

"Daddy, listen to me," she begged, "you two were in enormous peril. You remember the Wizarding War, don't you? They would have sought you out and tortured you!"

"It still doesn't give you the right to take our agency away from us! People have the right to choose their own way, and you stole that from us. How could you respect us so little?"

"No, no, it wasn't like that," Hermione tried to argue, "I didn't do it because I didn't respect you, but because I _know_ what magic is capable of and I couldn't bear risking you like that!"

"So you thought it was alright to take that decision from us?" Her mum demanded indignantly. "I _knew_ you weren't telling us all there was to know about that war. You lied to us for _years_ , and then not only did you use magic against us without our consent, but completely ignored our right to decide what to do with our lives."

"But, Mum, you two would have never agreed to leave the country, and if you had stayed, they would have found you! You could have lost your minds or _die_ , don't you see?"

"We would have left England if you had come with us. Did you ever think of that option? Not lying to us, not violating our rights, but coming _with_ us escaping from that danger?"

Hermione lowered her eyes again and talked barely above a whisper. "I couldn't do that. I had made a promise. I had to help save my world."

"And we didn't fit in that. In your world there was no room for us," Hermione's dad concluded, disapproval staining each word.

"No! Of _course_ you're part of my world! That's why I needed to save you, don't you see?"

Her mum stood up, side by side with Hermione's dad. Her face was hard like stone, her lips pressed tightly into a thin line of contempt. "I don't know how I can trust you again, knowing you turned your wand on us that way. You _are_ my daughter, even if I thought I didn't have any children of my own for months and months. That's the only reason I'm not asking you to leave our house right now. Do stay; I just don't think I can be in your presence and control my anger at the same time."

She turned and walked out of the sitting room.

"Daddy?" Hermione begged, her voice small and scared.

"I have  never been so disappointed in you," he said, and crossing his arms, turned away from her.

Hermione saw them leave, and soon heard the click of a door closing. She felt the tears come back in full force, and she covered her face with her hands as if to try to protect herself from seeing that her parents had left her alone. Even if they had been extremely angry at her before, they had never left her alone like that, and it showed Hermione quite how critical their reaction was.

As minutes passed by, and as silence surrounded her, she could only feel the heaviness that pulled her down onto herself. The argument had taken every ounce of energy she had, and now she felt unbearably tired. She lay down on the sofa she had been sitting on the whole time, and curled up into a ball. She let her tears run freely and silently until she sensed she was falling asleep, welcoming the unconsciousness that would let her forget that even if the spell had worked, everything had gone terribly bad.

 

* * *

Several hours later, Hermione woke up with the certainty that she was being observed. She saw her parents as soon as she opened her eyes, sitting on the same seats they had been in before. Slowly she sat up again on the sofa, neck and back sore from sleeping in a weird position. Then she held her hands on her lap, wringing them tightly, and waited for them to say something.

"We're still angry, make no mistake," her mum began, "but we want to know more. This time don't tell any lies. Tell us _everything_."

She did. She didn't edit anything this time, like she would have back during her school years. She simply began chronologically right from the moment she had first heard of You-Know-Who, what he wanted to do, and what it meant for her friends and for the wizarding community.

She spoke for a long time, trying to make sure they would understand the severity of the situation. She did not hold back when explaining the position that muggles and muggleborns would have under Voldemort's regime, and why it was so important for her to be there, to fight for her values, right alongside Ron and Harry.

"Ron and I knew it was going to happen soon. We talked about it many times; spent hours alone somewhere in the castle when Harry was away with Dumbledore, discussing what we would do when the time came. So when Harry announced that he was leaving school, Ron and I knew what to say. We knew what we had to do. We had to go with him.

"You see," Hermione continued, "We had always been a team. We couldn't let him go on his own. And the war affected us all, especially muggleborns like me and muggles like you. I couldn't, _couldn't_ go away and not help. You taught me of justice, you taught me of loyalty, and that decision was me being true to those values."

"Alright, I can see how that makes sense. It feels different when it's _my daughter_ being heroic rather than a random inspirational figure like those we told you about growing up," her dad conceded.

"I wasn't being _heroic_ , I was --" She interrupted herself when she saw the look on her dad's eyes.

"Still, that doesn't explain why you lied to us, and why you violated us by using magic on us without our consent."

Hermione cringed at the word _violated_ , and decided to try to focus on answering all their questions truthfully.

"I was terrified you would not let me go to Hogwarts anymore, or you would decide Harry and Ron weren't good friends for me, antagonizing me every time I mentioned their names. I truly believed in the cause, and you _have_ to know," she added with sentiment, "I had never, ever had friends like them before! I love them!"

Her parents looked at each other for a moment, communicating without the need for words, and then turned to her again.

"We can't approve of the lies, Hermione, even if there was a purpose to them; even if they were founded on something so important to you. You were a minor, and as such incapable of fully understanding what you were getting into. That's our role, as parents, to protect you from such things. You made that impossible by hiding the full truth from us."

"I was a minor, but you have said yourselves I was always mature for my age. You taught me about courage and honour, did you really expect me to not live up to it?"

"And what values exactly were you following when you decided to make us forget about you and send us here to Australia?" Her mum asked in a serious, monotone voice that Hermione knew well. It was the voice she used when trying to control her anger but was close to failing at it.

Hermione looked down to the floor, ashamed. "That... that was the only way I could think of to keep you two safe. I never meant harm, I just needed to make sure they would never find you. It had the added benefit that by not knowing of my existence, you wouldn't suffer if I did not survive the war, and would continue with your lives happily ever after. I needed to know you would be happy. I thought of you two being happy here in Australia, when I missed you during the time I was away."

Her parents looked at each other in the same manner as before. Hermione waited, knowing the discussion was coming to an end.

"We're conflicted. We've heard everything you have said, and even though a lot of it makes sense from a moral standpoint, it is impossible for us to ignore the parts that don't. You lied, you betrayed our trust, and as such there's a wound in our relationship that we don't know how to heal. But you're our daughter, and we're willing to try, if you are."

"Of course I am," Hermione replied with passion. "I want us to be alright, and hopefully gain your full trust again."

Hermione's mum nodded as if finally coming to a decision and reached for her hand, the first time they actually touched; the first time Hermione felt any kind of affection from them in so long.

She began crying again, squeezing her mum's hand, thankful that even if they were not in the best of terms yet, a bridge between them had been built.

* * *

The next day, late on Sunday, Ron was getting ready to sleep. Meaning, he kicked off his shoes and took of his trousers, ready to sleep in his shirt and pants.

He lay down on his bed, noticing Pig coming into his room through the window and getting into his always-opened cage. Ron pretty much let him fly in and out at will, which seemed to fit both personalities nicely.

"Thought you would be out hunting mice 'til tomorrow morning," Ron commented to the bird, who started grooming himself.

The door opened and Harry entered, a confused look on his face.

"Why on earth would I want to hunt mice?" He asked, evidently having heard Ron's question and thinking it was directed at himself.

Ron sniggered and pointed at Pig, causing Harry to absentmindedly say simply, "Oh."

Harry started getting ready for bed--to stay there only for a couple of hours, surely, but Ron said nothing.

"Have you thought about Kingsley's offer?" Harry began.

"Yeah," Ron replied. "Are you taking it?"

"Probably. I think... I mean, it's kinda my responsibility to finish the job, right?"

"It would also be alright if you decided you've had enough of fighting the Dark Arts," Ron pointed out, as if explaining to a small child.

Harry huffed dismissively. "As if I could. You have to think that's all I've done my whole life. It's kind of my profession already. Besides, Voldemort himself might have been defeated, but his ideals haven't, not fully. Kingsley said so himself." He ruffled his own hair, thinking. "I'd rather all of it was gone, forever, wouldn't you?"

Ron sighed dramatically. "I s'pose. I reckon that’s why I've decided to take on his offer, too."

Harry turned, and smiled. "You will, huh? Great. Will let him know tomorrow."

"Yeah, I will become an Auror. Besides, it's kinda my thing, fighting right alongside you. Won't stop doing that _now_ , yes?"


	8. In the Depths of your Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like this chapter; it has one of the scenes I think about the most when I think about this story. Having said that, this chapter is pretty dark and it covers difficult themes. For that reason, please pay attention to the trigger warnings and read carefully! Even if I know TWs can spoil parts of the story, I add them to help people take care of themselves. More notes at the end of the story.  
> TW: Suicidal Ideation  
> TW: Panic Attack, Flashback

_ May 25, 1998 _

_ Dear Ron, _

_ I write to you from Melbourne today, which you'll probably know if you took the time to check the stamps. I'm happy to tell you I found my parents, and as of yesterday I'm staying with them. Honestly, I'm glad to be out of a hotel room, you know? _

_ Do you remember when I came to you, to the Burrow, that night after I had performed the memory spell on them? I told you that I was afraid that if everything went all right and we won the war,  _ and _ if I was able to find my parents again, I wouldn't be able to perform the magic correctly again  _ and , _even if I did, my parents may not forgive me for what I had done. Well... I was right, my parents didn't take it nicely. They feel hurt and betrayed, which I know is to be expected. But they're willing to make the effort to learn to trust me again, and I am very thankful for that. I am going to do my best to heal our relationship, because despite our differences, they're my parents and I love them, and I want them to love me back. Is it too childish of me to want that?_

_ I don't know yet when we'll be returning to England. I will be asking them as soon as I feel it's safe to broach the subject. I feel like we're still too afraid to cause friction to really talk too much; I know that at least I am jittery and even the sharp noise of something hitting the floor makes me jump. I'm so ready to move on! And I really, really want to go back. I want to see your family and Harry, and above all, I want to see you. I hope I'm not making a fool of myself by being so honest and open in these letters, but who knew it was so much easier writing these things than saying them to your face? That telling you about my days and about how I feel always helps me feel a bit better? _

_ If everything went smoothly, you should be getting my first letter one of these days. Imagining your reaction, hoping you'll be happy to hear from me, gives me some comfort in the middle of this difficult time. _

_ Love, _

_ Hermione _

_ PS: I'd like to think they're going to open the borders in about ten to fifteen days, which means they may open the borders before my parents and I are ready to return to England. You should be receiving this letter by then. If that happens, maybe you could write back to this address; maybe you can ask at the Ministry to send it to the Australian Ministry, so that they can forward your letter to me. I long to hear from you. _

* * *

 

Soft pops announced Ron and Harry's arrival to the Burrow. They didn't speak; both felt rather gloomy. Harry went to the shed, to pick up his broom and fly to clear his head, Ron thought. He chose to go up to his room instead, hoping that the solitude would help him deal with the difficult and conflicting emotions their outing had conjured.

Earlier that morning, they had received an owl from Shacklebolt, asking them to meet him at the Ministry. He wanted to discuss the names of people Kingsley should contact regarding joining the Aurors. On their way there, Ron had noticed people looking at them as they reached the building, heads turning and a few daring fingers pointing at them. He had just started to feel uncomfortable by the unwavering attention when they had been received by the new Minister.

After they were done, Harry and Ron decided to visit St. Mungo’s, as the Minister had said in passing that there were still some people there from the Battle of Hogwarts. He could still feel people's eyes on the back of his head, making the skin on his neck tingle in wariness. Yet, as they visited the severely injured, he made the effort to focus on them instead. There were several that Ron recognized from different social situations, but none had shocked Ron as badly as seeing Lavender, incredibly pale, sleeping on the only bed in the room.

They hadn't stopped for long. They heard how the nurse explained that she hadn't suffered a transformation for the full moon a couple of weeks ago, but it still had been a bad time. What kept her hospitalized was not that, though, but the severity of her wounds. Having been made by dark magic, they were healing very slowly.

They had nodded silently, having a hard time processing the information in regard to someone they had known so well. They simply left a note, repeating the same awkward words they had managed to come up with while visiting the other patients;  _ Thanks so much for everything. Let us know if there's anything we can do. Take care _ , they had written on a random piece of parchment they had gotten from the nurse, and signed off with their names. Ron, having signed last, hastily added in a quick scribble,  _ I really do hope you feel better soon _ .

It hadn't been long after that that they had returned home, moody and depressed. The whole thing had sucked balls. Ron felt guilty for being nice and healthy, when so many had suffered so much. He felt inadequate, having given vacuous words of comfort to people who could do nothing with them, unable to think of one single thing that could actually help their situation. And then, seeing Lavender... the same girl he had snogged for hours, the same girl that was so bubbly and brave, lying limp and white on that bed...

Ron crossed the door to his room and threw himself on the bed, sinking his face on his pillow so that he could only draw shallow breaths. He came up only when spots started dancing behind his closed eyelids and started feeling lightheaded. He crossed his arms over his pillow and rested his forehead on them, drawing in deep breaths, like he had been underwater for several minutes. Two, three times, and then his breathing changed, becoming slightly hiccupped. He was about to cry, and the fear of everything he had still locked up inside managed to scare him into action.

_ Get busy, Weasley; get busy and get away _ .

He furiously scrubbed his eyes dry, forcefully eliminating the evidence of his momentary weakness, and crossed the door of his bedroom right out again. How could he be so selfish, focusing on himself when so many,  _ so many _ had it so much worse? He only had to look around his own house to see the devastation the war had caused on his own family; his mum was doing only marginally better, but George was doing just as poorly as he had been doing since the Battle. He had lost his twin, for fucks sake. He needed to be the focus, so much more than Ron did.

It took him only a couple of seconds to reach George's bedroom door, closed as usual, a plate of half eaten food left at its feet. Without stopping to think, Ron knocked on his brother's door with determination. "George?" he called, his voice raised. "Can I come in?"

Ron didn't know what he planned to do; he only knew that he had to focus on who really needed help. He knocked again. "It's past two, you're not sleeping, are you?"

Silence from the other side, but that was not new. "I'm coming in, alright?"

Ron slowly turned the handle and stepped in, checking on Fred's bed for George.

But no one was there. Nor in the other bed. The bedroom looked empty.

Ron immediately felt dread rising, his intuition telling him something was wrong. Still, he determinedly tried to use reason to assess the situation. It wouldn't help to panic and cause alarm.

George didn't leave his room much, but sometimes he did spend some time in other places. Not wanting to waste time, needing to find George as soon as possible to make sure he was alright, Ron Apparated to the sitting room. When he didn't see George there, he checked the kitchen, too, with the same result.

_ Alright, think like George. Like a desolate, horribly unhappy George. _

Ron Apparated to the pond, thinking George might have finally decided he didn't hate the sun, after all. But George was not there. He Apparated next to the shed, hoping George had decided to fly to clear his head just like Harry had. But the only broom missing was the one Harry had taken.

By this point, Ron was becoming more and more unsuccessful at controlling the rising fear constricting his chest. He needed to find George before anyone noticed... before his mum noticed.

_ Where are you, George? Please be alright. Please be alright. _

Ron tried hard to imagine where George could be. Every time he had seen him for the past few weeks, George had been linked to Fred in some way. He was sleeping on Fred's bed, and when not there he would be holding something that could be traced to Fred somehow. There was no reason to think that had changed. So where could George be, that could relate to Fred in any way?

An answer came immediately to his head. The shop. George was at the shop.

Ron Disapparated away once more, this time arriving directly to what used to be their office. His heart beating fast, Ron looked around the room, barely noticing the thick layer of dust covering everything. He walked out of the office, trying to keep his steps silent, feeling like he was intruding. He knew George didn't expect him to be there.

Now he could see a big part of the place, and it all looked empty and desolated. Some products were still placed on the shelves, left behind when the twins had closed the shop to flee and hide during the war. Again, he saw dust covering every surface, the faint light coming through dirty windows making the whole place look rather grey.

Except for the light coming down from the staircase next to the back wall. Ron understood that George wasn't at the shop, after all, but up on what used to be the twins' flat. He started walking there, fisting his hands in nervousness, not knowing what he would find.

The door to the flat ajar, Ron only had to push it slightly to open it and enter what used to be the twin's place. One single light was on, softly shining on their sitting room. Ron hadn't been here too many times, and the place looked different from what seemed to be like such a long time ago. Yet he didn't focus on that, as he saw George sitting on the floor, next to a grey and unlit fireplace, arms resting on his crossed legs and holding a picture frame between his hands. Ron assumed he had taken it from the mantelpiece above, and had fallen to the floor after seeing whatever it was the photo captured.

His head was hanging, and it didn't come up as Ron got closer. Unsure as to what to do, Ron simply sat next to George and waited.

Several minutes passed and nothing happened. Ron started feeling badly again, anxious because he felt like he should know what to do or what to say. Still at a loss, he impulsively reached for the frame that George was holding.

It was a picture of the twins, all smiles and pride as they opened the shop. Just as always, it didn't take much to imagine the picture was simply a trick, where maybe someone had placed a mirror at the centre and taken pictures of someone and their reflection. Fred and George had always been that identical.

What could Ron say? He knew words didn't mean much in a situation like this. Yet unlike what he had felt earlier with those still hospitalized, this wasn't about feeling awkward and inadequate. This was about the urgency, about the  _ need _ to say something that could help his brother somehow, something that would make a difference. Even if he didn't know what to say, George was family and Ron was willing to wing it, look for the answers by trial and error, until something worked.

"You got me worried back home. I didn't know where you were."

Silence.

"You could have left a note. Or did you tell Mum you'd be here? I doubt she would have let you come on your own."

Silence.

"When was the last time you ate?"

"Stop it," George said. "What's the point?"

George's voice was monotone, cold, softly spoken but clear on the space between them.

"What do you mean, what's the point?" Ron asked, trying not to think of the menace that hung in the air like daggers.

"I can't do this anymore."

"What... what do you mean?" Ron's gut told him what George meant, but he refused to believe them. George couldn't... George wouldn't...

"Just what it sounds like. I can't do this anymore. I'm done."

"George... I-- I don't know what to say. But... don't." Ron's voice sounded lost and hesitant to his own ears. He hated himself for it, but he didn't know what else to do.

"There's nothing to say. Nothing can fix this."

Silence filled the room for a moment, then he continued with the same coldness and  _ flatness _ as before. "Nothing can bring Fred back. He's not here, and I don't want to be, either."

Panic, so much panic. Ron's back was crawling in reaction to his brother's words, said so matter of fact, so carelessly. His gut formed a tight knot, heavy with dread, much worse than before. His intuition had been clear, but until he heard the words out of George's own lips, he could pretend it wasn't real. Now he couldn't. And it filled him with terror like he had only rarely experienced.

"You can't think like that," he tried to argue after a moment, again just opening his mouth and hoping something worth saying came out, completely at loss of how he could refute George's feelings. "I know it's tough, I can only imagine what you're going through... but things are going to get better, I swear."

"Are they, really?" George scoffed. "But I don't expect you to understand. It doesn't matter. Just... just leave."

"Are you mad?! I'm not going anywhere! I'm staying right beside you until I'm sure you're not going to do anything crazy!"

"You really think you can stop me?" George asked dispassionately, almost with a tinge of surprise at Ron's naiveté. "If I decide I'm done, then nobody can really stop me. You know that as well as I do."

"Then tell me how I can stop you from deciding to do whatever it is that you're thinking of," Ron kept on going, cold sweat wetting the back of his shirt. "Something must have kept you here this far. Tell me what it is; hold on to that," Ron pleaded.

George nodded his head no, but he spoke anyway. "Mum. Dad. I've seen what Fred's death did to the family. I can't bear to make them go through that again."

Ron welcomed the sadness that coated George's confession like oil, the first true emotion that Ron had sensed since he found him sitting on the floor. If Mum and Dad were keeping George alive, then Ron would use that shamelessly.

"Yeah, that's right. None of us could go through that again. Focus on that. Don't think like that anymore, and slowly you'll feel better--"

"No! You don't understand!" George interrupted, showing a tinge of anger almost too faint to qualify as such. "You asked why I'm still here, and I told you. That doesn't mean I have any expectations of this getting better. It just can't. There's nothing you can say to change that!"

"I  _ know _ that! But I still will fucking  _ try _ ! I couldn't stop Fred from dying, but sure as hell I'm still going to try to stop losing you, too!"

George stared at Ron in shock. It looked like George was truly, truly looking at him, at Ron, for the first time in what felt like ages. Fred's and George's faces mixed in Ron's brain, the longing seizing his heart furiously. He found himself clutching at the feeling of seeing Fred's eyes looking back at him again, guilty that he was using George that way, thankful that his stubborn words had seemed to finally penetrate George's wall. Yet all anger left him as he looked back at George and saw a spark of understanding in his eyes.

All that he had been avoiding, the full weight of such a horrible day, came crushing down on him at once. The small, silvery thin thread of connection with George was all it took. His brother had truly seen into him, and now Ron was forced to look inside and see what he saw, too.

A whimper escaped through Ron's lips. Like it had been the cork sealing everything deeply inside of him, it was followed by a million tears blurring his sight, falling undisturbed over his face. Devastation flooded him like a wave, sobs growing in intensity until they wracked his body, until he couldn't even attempt to keep all that inside anymore. Resigned, he let it happen and slowly crumbled onto himself, thoroughly breaking into pieces in front of George. He knew it wasn't going to make things better for his brother and he felt guilty, but he was simply incapable of stopping himself anymore. He had begun crying, and now his soul screamed through his tears for a long time.

Images of Fred filled his mind, of his pale, smiling face surrounded by rubble, and of the day they buried him. He thought of his mum, and of everyone who had lost someone in the bloody war. He thought of Hermione, of how much he needed her, and how fucking lonely it made him feel. He let it all out, each image leaving him utterly exhausted, like a nail hammered deeply into his heart.

He didn't know how long it had been since he had started crying; it could have easily been an hour or more, he felt so excruciatingly spent. Now he finally seemed to be calming down, even if his breathing was full of that hiccuping pattern that takes over once the tears are done. Suddenly, he felt George's hand on his shoulder, and Ron looked up in surprise.

"Did you know that nobody had cried in front of me? Everyone's always walking on eggshells around me, so fucking infuriating," George mumbled, the slightest hint of his old humour in his voice. "Also, you need a tissue."

Ron snorted, cleaning his nose with his shirt's sleeve.

"Disgusting," George said, and reaching for his wand, he added a soft " _ tergeo _ ."

"Sorry 'bout that," Ron whispered after a few minutes has passed, needing to apologize for making the moment about him.

George took his hand off Ron's shoulder and shrugged. "Don't worry about it. It made me... well..."

Ron looked back at George patiently, silently encouraging him to finish what he had started to say. It was the least he could do.

"It just helped me realise how isolated it made me feel to see everyone sad yet still able to keep it together. It made me... it made me feel like I was the only broken one, feeling like absolute crap all the time."

"Oh, I feel plenty crappy, if that helps."

It was George's turn to snort. "Yeah, it helps. It does," George asserted again, as if trying to make sure Ron understood what he was saying.

"It's not enough, though. I don't want you thinking anything else again close to what you were thinking of before," Ron declared, going back to what really mattered. "Let's work this out together. You said there was no point, let's find a point."

George scoffed. "You're barmy. And annoying."

"C'mon, indulge me."

"You don't think I tried that?"

"What about the shop?"

George looked away, slightly irritated. Ron liked it, it was much better than seeing him so despondent.

"I can't reopen the shop."

"Why not?"

Ron didn't falter when George looked at him with scorn.

"Why not?! Well, because the shop is full of memories of Fred. He's  _ everywhere _ in here."

"He's everywhere  _ everywhere _ . He's everywhere here; he’s everywhere at the Burrow. You'll stop going home, too? We can't pretend we'll find a place where we can escape our memories of him, and frankly, I think we shouldn't."

George's first reaction was shock, his body moving with a slight jerk backwards and his eyes open in surprise. He then looked down again and let out a scoff that turned into a half-hiccup. 

“He’s everywhere,  _ everywhere _ ,” he repeated, as if the words cast some sort of spell on him, and softly started crying.

Following George's reaction to his own tears, all Ron did was put a hand on his brother's shoulder, letting him do what he needed to do.

Some time passed by. George dried his eyes with slow-moving hands, and continued talking.

"The shop is not the answer. I can't do this alone. This business is a two-man job; it was designed that way," George tried again.

"I'll help you," Ron blurted before he thought it through. "I'll work with you."

This time, George squinted back at Ron through puffed up, red eyelids. It made Ron wonder about the state he himself was in, probably all splotchy. He'd rather think of that right now than the consequences of offering to help with the shop.

"Running the shop is not all galleons and glamour. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I'm not stupid, you know? Just say we'll do it. Let's open Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes again, and honour Fred together."

Again, some time passed by while George thought of the situation.

"Don't expect this to fix my life and make me feel better right away, like some kind of cure-all potion. I can't... I don't..." George hesitated, a big swallow evident on his neck muscles. He finally looked back at Ron with sadness filling his eyes with tears again. "It won't be easy. I don't expect a smooth ride, and neither should you."

"I wouldn't dare expect that."

George sighed, giving up his fight and looking suddenly extremely tired. Slowly, he held his hand up in the air in front of Ron. "It's a deal, then."

Ron held George's hand resolutely, and shook it twice. "Deal."

* * *

 

"Good morning, Mum," Hermione asked in a soft voice. She hated how she still felt hesitant around them, but she couldn't seem to shake off the feeling.

"Good morning, Hermione," her mum replied, pressing a few buttons on a coffee machine. "I'm making breakfast, would you like some? Maybe some pancakes, fruit, eggs..."

"Can I help you with anything?" Hermione offered, even knowing her mum had never liked cooking with other people. She said she cooked better when she was handling all the tasks she had in mind.

"I'm fine, thank you, just sit and I'll get you something to eat. You need some nourishment in you," her mum asserted.

Hermione didn't reply, but took a cup of coffee and sat at the table.

A few minutes went by. "Where's dad?"

"He went to a meeting. We were thinking that maybe we could talk about it tonight; it has to do with the volunteering office we mentioned on Sunday."

"Alright," she said, not really having the energy or the courage to ask more about the topic. They were going to discuss it further later in the day, in any case.

The first plate of food arrived in front of her; a thick piece of cheese, and an apple and a pear were in front of her. "I'm making you a couple of eggs, too," her mum announced.

"It's okay, Mum, I think this is more than enough, thanks," Hermione tried.

"I'd like you to eat eggs, too. It looks like you could use the nutrients," she added pointedly. "God, Hermione, I had never seen you so thin!"

"I know. Fine, I'll eat as much as I can," Hermione promised, even though she wasn't really hungry.

"I was wondering," her mum continued, "when was the last time you went to the doctor? By the looks of you, you should get a full check up done."

The words, even if born from concern, hurt. She knew she didn't look her best, but it didn't make it any easier to hear it. Besides, she didn't want to go to the doctor.

"I'm fine, Mum," she tried to deflect.

But her mum was like an owl with a letter, focused on her goal. "Still, I'd rather make sure, wouldn't you?"

_ Perhaps _ , Hermione thought, knowing that a Muggle doctor couldn't really help. How could she explain all her injuries to someone who didn't understand what a curse is?

"I don't think that's a good idea. A Muggle doctor--"

Her mum turned around, pointing at her with the spatula she had been using to make eggs. "A  _ Muggle  _ doctor is perfectly capable to cure whatever ails you, Hermione. Magic isn't better than what we can do. In fact," she added, turning around to the stove again, "it may very well be a better option. Your body isn't  _ different _ because of your magic, and--"

"Mum," Hermione tried to interrupt. She needed to stop the conversation, or at least change it into a safer discussion. She had a bad feeling about it. "Please, it just would be easier if I could explain what happened to someone like me, maybe I can ask at the Ministry of Magic here--"

Her mum put a plate full of eggs under her nose, and it made her nauseous. "What do you need to explain?" she asked half-irritated, half-concerned. "It would be a simple physical, wouldn't it?"

Hermione couldn't answer. She lowered her hands to her lap, where she curled them into a tight fist to try to control the rising panic in her chest.

Her mum must have noticed that something was happening to her, so she sat down on the chair next to hers and leaned in, looking into her face with concern. "Hermione? What happened? What do you need to explain?"

Hermione closed her eyes, digging her still-fragile nails in the soft flesh of her hand. She noticed she had started breathing fast and shallow, and tried to manage it. She tried to put her attention on her hands, and noticed she could feel her hectic heartbeat in them. She tried to think of the chapter on PTSD she had read, hoping that understanding what might be happening to her would help her gain back some sense of control. She would try to be rational; she would try to be detached.  _ Something _ had to help!

"There are things... things that happened..." she started to explain, but stopped herself. Just two words out and it was clear to her it wasn't going to help. Images of everything that had happened to her, of the things they had gone through filled her brain, and it most definitely made it immediately worse. She did not want, she could not have that conversation with her mum in her current state. She evidently was at risk of going through another attack in front of her. "Sorry, I just..."

Her stomach turned into a knot of pain, a subtle, lying reminder of the pain she had gone through under Bellatrix's torture. Bile rose up her throat, and she pushed the plateful of eggs far from her and then held the table's edge with her hands, her knuckles hard with effort, like it would give her the sense of stability she was losing inside.

"Hermione, when you told us you had been attacked during the war... what did you mean, exactly?"

Hermione could hear the fear in her mum's voice, an echo of the storm of panic that was surrounding her, flooding her.

"Hermione?"

The kitchen seemed way too small and dark now, the walls closing in on her, almost like they were in the brink of falling down on her. Then she would be trapped, no more air for her, her death imminent.

"Tell me the truth, Hermione." She knew she her mum's tone had been pleading, but Hermione's brain seemed determined to interpret it differently.

It had been the wrong thing to say. "No, please, don’t. Stop, please!"

"Hermione? Tell me everything, right now!"

"No! No!" Dizziness and nausea, pain, fear, it all mingled together. 

“Hermione, I need the truth. Tell me the truth!”

She screamed.

Huge, grandiose windows on tall, black walls. The expansive room still seemed dark, and empty, and still. There was noise around her, shrieks and demands that she couldn't comprehend anymore, nothing beyond the horrifying threat of her running heart, frozen in pain, barely managing to keep beating and keeping her alive.

Maybe it had frozen, after all. Maybe she was dead and her ghost was looking at the situation instead of her, and somehow she wished that was the case. She was hoping that it would mean that the pain was gone, that she wouldn't...

" _ Crucio _ !"

She screamed, or her ghost screamed, the only true connection to what was happening to her. There was nothing but electric-white, hot-metal searing pain running through her nerves, filling up her veins.

If only her ghost could just leave, go to her favourite places in the world, even the moon would be just fine. Anywhere but here, until it was free to visit Ron in his dreams, and kiss him on his forehead and say how sorry she was, that she would wait for him, and that she hoped they would have their chance in another life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it, a big plot point or two are revealed in this chapter. I know it’s dark, but you have to know that this story won’t remain 357% angst the whole time. I promise other things will happen in the future—if you could only see some of the things I’ve been writing lately!  
> Anyway, let me know what you think. Reading your comments and reviews make me incredibly happy; they are the biggest reward after putting all this work into this story.


	9. The Request

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I posted last chapter only two days ago, but I wanted to post again and nobody can really stop me so here it goes! I hope you enjoy (which I'm guessing is only possible if you love angst… if you don't, I promise this story will have happier chapters.)

Muffled voices ebbed in and out of her awareness, light and undefined so that she could barely register them.

... _mugged_...

... _trauma_...

... _alright_...

She could also sense pressing touches on her skin, and a cold piece of... something... against her chest.

She flinched.

"Hermione? Darling? Can you hear me?"

Voices were definitely clearer now, but she still felt confused and slightly out of it.

"Are you sure we shouldn't take her to the hospital?" Her mum's voiced asked.

"Policy is to treat at the scene when the patient doesn't need further assistance than what we can offer. Her vital signs are stable at the moment; we just want to perform a quick neurological exam when she comes back to, and if she seems alright, we'll be done. You said she didn't hit her head on anything, right?"

"No, she didn't. Once she started fainting, I held her and laid her on the floor safely."

"Well, it certainly helps you have first aid training. You documented the event properly, so now we only have to wait."

Hearing the people around her talk had helped her fully regain her awareness. She opened her eyes slowly, which were quickly blinded by the light of a flashlight.

"I'm fine," she said, raising a hand to push the flashlight away.

"Hermione! Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes," she said as she tried to get up, but a couple of hands gently but firmly kept her in place.

"Can you answer a few questions for me, please?"

Hermione decided to comply and answered the questions as well as she could. She followed instructions such as touching her nose with the tip of her finger, and walking around the room on their request.

"Alright," the paramedic leading the exam said, "it seems everything is in order. Your mum said you were mugged back in England and that it had been a very traumatic experience. Is that accurate?"

Hermione, slightly shocked, remembered hearing her mum say " _mugged"_ as she had started to regain consciousness. She looked quickly at her mum, and instantly understood it had been her way to help her get the medical attention she evidently needed without having to disclose her being a witch.

Hermione quickly decided to follow the lead, and hoped for the best. "Yes. That's what happened. I... I still can't really talk about it."

"Were you medically checked after the event?"

"No," Hermione replied, looking down. "I did try my best to disinfect a few wounds I got, though."

"Okay. We haven't seen anything here that requires immediate treatment, but we still recommend that you see a physician for a thorough check up as soon as possible. From what your mum says, it seems that what you're going through isn't originated in a medical cause. Still, if anything changes, if you have a sudden headache or anything strange happens, go to the emergency room right away. Do you understand?"

Hermione simply nodded her head, but her mum replied to the paramedics. "That's fine, thank you very much!"

"Go get checked up," the paramedic said once more with a wink, and got up to get ready to leave.

Hermione stayed sitting in the kitchen while her mum helped the men and woman leave the house, and waited for her there. She saw her mum come back to the kitchen, and take a seat in a chair next to her. She reached for one of Hermione's hands, and squeezed it tightly. "I was so incredibly worried, Hermione."

Hermione teared up, a single wet trail making its way on her face. "I'm sorry," was all she said, full of frustration and regret.

Silence filled the room, but after a few minutes, her mum started talking again. "I don't know what happened to you to have caused this. I can see you are not ready to talk yet. It's horribly difficult for me not to pressure you, but-- I--" she hesitated and interrupted herself.

"Look," her mum continued, "I can't handle the idea right now of you being a witch. I don't like that the magic world is such a dangerous place, and one I can't follow you to. I don't like that I can't even comprehend what kind of things magic can do, but worst of all, I hate what magic has done to me and to you."

Hermione was crying now in earnest, listening to her mum and fearing what she would say next. Because she had a feeling of what she was going to ask of her, and the idea alone made her chest shrink with desolation.

"Darling, why don't you try being normal for a while? Like Dad and I, just a normal, non-magical human being. The three of us, just like it was for so long. Will you give it a try, please? Do it for us, and for our family. Will you?"

There it was, what Hermione had been fearing her mum would ask of her.

Could she do it? Could she reject what she now considered to be her true essence, the magic that lit her veins with a power and promise that her parents would never truly understand? Even more, could she try to live a Muggle life, one where she might have to isolate herself from people she dearly loved? How could she be friends with magical people, feel the tingling on her skin of magic wanting to be released, and not be a witch?

And Ron, would he even be interested in her if she was to live a fully Muggle life?

"Love, I know I'm asking for a lot. Just think about it. For now, I'll be happy if you just let me take you to a walk in clinic for a full check up. Can we do that?"

Thankful that her mum had not pressured her to give her an answer right away, she nodded her head yes, and got up to go with her mum to the physician.

* * *

Ron reached for the teapot someone had prepared earlier that day, still at perfect drinking temperature thanks to a properly executed spell. He added a few cubes of sugar --three? four? who's counting, anyway?-- and sat down at the kitchen table. He rubbed his face hard with one hand, trying to wake himself up. He hadn't slept much the night before, and he was really starting to feel the effects of almost a month of few, disconnected hours of sleep each night.

"Hi, Ron," he heard his sister say. "Didn't sleep well? You look tired," she commented.

"Yeah. Not sleeping much lately."

"Mmmh," she muttered, with slight concern. "Is anything the matter?"

Ron laid back against his chair and closed his eyes. He shrugged. "The usual," he said dismissively, and sipped some tea.

"Mmmh," she repeated, this time sounding a bit put off. "Anyway, do you want a sandwich? I'm making some right now and I suppose I can make some for you, as well."

"You are my favorite sister," he said with a small smile, and saw her roll her eyes before getting busy collecting ingredients.

They remained silent for a few minutes, until he remembered there was something he wanted to ask of them.

"Where's your boyfriend? Is he coming down to eat some of those sandwiches, too?"

"I think he's showering, and then he should come here, yeah. Why?"

"There's something I'd like to ask you two."

Ginny half turned from her place in the kitchen, to quickly look him up and down before turning back to the meat she was thinly slicing with magic. "Should I be worried?"

"I don't think so," Ron said, and they went back to staying quiet.

Again some time passed by, and just as Ginny set a plate on the table with a few sandwiches, Harry made an appearance in the kitchen.

"Perfect timing," he said with a smile, and sat at the table next to Ginny.

"Hey, Ron has something very important to discuss with us," she announced. "I'm a little scared," she teased.

"Oh, do you?" Harry asked looking at Ron. " _Should_ I be scared?"

It was Ron's turn to roll his eyes. "Don't listen to Ginny. It's nothing major, but I guess it's serious. Although..." Ron hesitated, wondering how Harry would take the news. "Well, I don't know. I don't _think_ it's serious, in any case."

He saw Harry and Ginny exchange a worried look, and Ron sensed they were now actually paying attention. They had realised this was important for Ron.

"What's up?" Harry finally asked.

"Do you remember when George and I came back from the shop on Monday?"

"Yes," they replied simultaneously.

When George and Ron had finally felt ready to return to the Burrow, Percy, Ginny, and Harry had realized George was missing and were frantically looking for him. They had come running to Ron and George as they walked to the house from their Apparition point, their faces full of worry and evident questions on the tip of their tongues. Ron had quenched any questions with a simple look, firmly stating that they were fine and not to worry. After George had settled back in his room, the other three had tried to question Ron in regard to what had happened, but he had been slightly evasive.

"Everything is alright. I found George at the shop, we talked for a while, that's all."

And he had held his ground. He was determined not to tell them the scary things George had said to him, but now he was ready to tell Harry and Ginny what else they had talked about that day. This time, it didn't have to do with George directly, but with Ron.

"Well, when he and I were talking, I convinced George to reopen the business. I think it'll be good for him; give him some purpose, you know?"

Ginny and Harry looked at each other again, and this time when Ginny looked back at Ron, she nodded. "Yeah, I can see how that's a good idea. He agreed, then?"

"It took some work, but yeah, he agreed. He can't do it alone, though. So I'm going to help him with the business," Ron declared, ready to defend himself, half-expecting the others to fight him on that.

"What do you mean, you're going to help him?" Harry asked, slightly confused, at the idea or at Ron's tone, he didn't know.

"I'm going to be his partner. He said Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is a two-man job, so I'm going to be that other man."

"What about Auror training?" Harry asked, shocked. "It starts in less than two weeks!"

Ron smirked, pushing the feeling of a heavy iron ball on his stomach away from his mind. "It'll have to wait. I owled Kingsley yesterday, and he told me the offer still stands. He said he expects there's going to be a second and even maybe a third fast-track training camp, that's what he called it," Ron explained. "He said that as long as I'm ready to participate in one of them, I'm welcome to join the Auror department a few months from now."

"But you always wanted to be an Auror," Ginny pressed.

"Yeah, but I want George to get better even more," he said with as much conviction as he could.

Both Harry and Ginny looked down to their empty plates, and again Ron wasn't sure of what they were thinking in response to his words. He finally decided to wait, and reached for a sandwich. The other two did the same. They ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts for a while.

Ron tried to imagine what the rest of the summer looked like for him. He would probably get busy with the shop, in whatever capacity he was to take. He imagined long days, trying to get the business going while keeping an eye on George. He thought that maybe, if he did a great job in helping his brother, in three months he could start working part-time while training to become an Auror. It seemed that it was going to be a busy summer... nothing like he had dared to imagine. No lazy summer days, walks with Hermione in the orchard, cuddling with her by the pond. How did it all go so awry? Now all he had left was a few lonely hours at night of him imagining what it would have been like; what it should have been like, had things gone his way.

"Ron, you never asked us anything," Ginny softly said, reminding Ron of his original intention in talking to them. "You said you wanted to ask us something?"

"Oh, right. Well, I was wondering if you could help me clean the store and restock it. It's all dusty and stuff. And I suppose we'll need to do an inventory, and it'd be great if you could help with that, as well."

"Will you two be moving to the flat together?" Ginny asked, shocking Ron.

"I hadn't thought about it," he answered. "I don't know. Probably not right away. Mum..." he hesitated, now knowing exactly what he wanted to say.

"Yeah, I don't think she would take it nicely if we all started to move out so soon after the war. I think she will want us close for a while," Ginny explained for him.

"Yeah, I think you're right," he started, and then realised exactly what Ginny had said. "Wait, what do you mean, _we_? Are you planning on going anywhere?" Ron asked, his eyes full of suspicion, quickly jumping from Harry to Ginny.

"Relax, don't get your panties in a twist," she said with a scoff.

"It's not what you're thinking," Harry began, "it's just that I've been thinking."

"That can't be good," Ron quipped.

"Har har. Anyway, I've been thinking. Maybe it's time I moved out of the Burrow. It's been almost a month, and Auror training will begin shortly. It would be more convenient for me to be closer to the Ministry. I don't want to keep inconveniencing your family any longer. But I don't want to live by myself, either, so I was thinking of maybe moving to Grimmauld Place and invite you to live with me, as I thought you were going to be doing the training too. And, perhaps, invite Hermione to live with us as well when she returns. That sort of thing. Ginny is staying here until September, when she'll go to Hogwarts to finish her education," Harry added pointedly, to give a direct answer to what Ron had been imagining.

Ginny rolled her eyes and looked at Ron. "You tell him. Maybe he'll listen to you, if he won't listen to me."

Harry looked half amused, half uncomfortable.

Ron smirked, trying to focus on Harry and not on the images of him officially living in the same house as Hermione that were trying to fill his mind. "Some of it makes sense," he began, but was interrupted by a slap on his arm.

"Ron!" Ginny exclaimed.

"Well, let me explain, won't you?" Ron demanded, rubbing his arm. "I mean, it would make sense to live closer to the Ministry. Except, you are a Wizard and commutes tend to be a lot easier thanks to magic, in case you haven't noticed, mate. My dad and Percy do it every day, don't they?" Ron continued as he noticed Ginny crossing her arms and looking at Harry like saying, _I told you so_. "Also, what is this about inconveniencing us? You have stayed with us for about as long before, and I do hope we never gave you the impression that your presence is _inconvenient_ because it has never been a problem. Or not often, anyway,” Ron joked, smiling at Harry so that he knew he wasn’t being serious. “Where are you getting these ideas from, in any case?"

"I don't know... it's not that any of you have given me that impression... it's more that I would think... I mean..."

"Quit it. Stay here. If you leave, don't let it be because you think we want you out, because we don't."

"See?" Ginny rhetorically asked, "I won't leave until September when I take the train to Hogwarts. I don't want to leave Mum alone," she quickly explained to Ron, and then turned back to Harry. "And I think, we should all stay together for as long as possible," she continued.

"I don't want to be a part of your domestic fights," Ron interrupted, grabbing another sandwich and his cup of tea as he stood up to move to the sitting room. Funnily enough, they followed him, and all three of them sat in the old, comfortable room.

Ron chose the big seat, not really paying attention to Harry and Ginny’s discussion. He had a feeling they were just repeating the same things they had gone over before. Instead, he ate his food in silence, and left the cup on the coffee table when it was empty. As he reached down, he saw Crookshanks appear from the corner of his eye, and quickly called for him by wiggling his fingers to him.

Crookshanks came to him, bumping his head on Ron's leg, which he now thought was his way of saying hi. "Hey, you," he softly said, and was shocked when the cat jumped to his lap. "Oh, I see. That's how things are, now, huh?"

Ron let his head drop against the back of the seat, and deeply sighed. So many changes, so much going on. He wasn't even thinking about his newfound comfort with Crookshanks, seeing as now he had curled on his lap, softly purring as Ron rubbed behind his ears. What really seemed to be in his mind was that this major change of plans had him slightly nervous. He had never imagined himself a businessman, and all of a sudden, that was the role he had to take. Never did it occur to him that he could change his mind; he had told George he would help and so he would. He hoped that it would help him get better, or at least as well as one could get when their twin passed away. Hopefully, in time him and everyone would learn to live relatively normal lives. He didn't expect it to ever be easy; they would all forever miss Fred. Yet in way, life had to go on. It didn't matter how different it was from everybody's plans, they would have to adapt and learn to live with the pain.

In a way, he thought they were slowly getting there. His mum was slowly coming back, with a sadness in her eyes and a weight on her shoulders that made Ron's heart clench. He still caught his dad staring into the air, pain etched on the new wrinkles that surrounded his eyes. And even with things that way, there was this sort of... stability, he supposed, in how the house felt.

He wondered if that was it, that was going to be their new life. And if it was, it certainly wouldn't be what he had imagined growing up.

Ron suddenly realised the room was silent, and opened his eyes to see Ginny and Harry looking at him.

"I didn't know you two were friends, now," she quietly commented.

Ron shrugged, looking at the feline on his legs and how the tips of his bony fingers disappeared under the cat's thick fur. "He's not as bad as I thought."

"Have you heard from Hermione?" This time it was Harry asking, but Ron didn't look up. He simply nodded his head no.

"I don't get it," Ginny said. "I thought... well, I assumed you two... anyway, something must have happened, right?"

"Kingsley said the borders would be closed for more than a month, so who knows. Not much I can do about it, in any case," was all Ron said in place of an answer.

"At least--" Harry started, then cleared his throat. "I mean, we do know she... cares... about you, yes?"

"Do we? I don't," he replied. "Not after... well... she did go away, didn't she? And I don't know how to find her. And she hasn't written or anything. So..."

Lost and uncomfortable, Ron simply shrugged again.

"She _is_ coming back, though" Ginny asserted.

"Is she? I won't know until she does, will I?"

Ginny let out an exasperated sigh. "Then let's hope that at least one of the two gingers sitting on that seat gives her a proper welcome."

Ron finally looked up, confused. "What?"

"Anyway," Harry interrupted, quickly looking at Ginny and then deciding to give Ron a break. "We never properly answered your question."

Ron shook his head to try and focus back on what Harry was saying. "Oh, yeah. Will you help?"

"You shouldn't even have to ask," was all the reply he got.

* * *

Dinner that night was a silent affair. Hermione's mind was full of the events of the day. She kept thinking of the unfortunate timing of her fainting, which had triggered even more difficult stuff.

A lot of it was her own fault; she had made several mistakes. Not only had she failed --yet again-- to control herself, which in itself made her feel stupid and vulnerable. She had also failed to envision the kind of topics the doctor would need to cover when she had acquiesced to her mum staying in the room, so that when she heard some of the things the physician was asking she had no choice but to answer.

"I'm getting a pretty general idea of what you have been through. Now I'm going to have to ask you a few things that may be difficult to answer," the female doctor had gently said, "but I need to ask them anyway. There are some decisions I will have to make in regard to proper exams depending on your answers, so let me ask you again, are you sure you are okay with your mum being here? You’re an adult, so I would normally ask her to leave. But since we’re talking about traumatic events, you might want a support person to be with you through it. Only for that reason, I’m leaving it up to you."

Hermione had realised by then what she would need to ask, and she knew her mum had understood, too. Still, she knew she was trapped: if she asked her mum to leave, all it would accomplish was that her mum would ask her after, when they were alone at home. Having the doctor there might actually act as a buffer between her mum and herself. So she grabbed the edge of the medical bed where she was sitting, and steeled herself to answer as best as she could.

"Go ahead," Hermione had replied in a small voice, she hated to realise.

"I'm sorry to have to go over what seems to be a traumatic experience for you," the doctor began, "but these muggers, did they do anything else to you? Did they assault you, or anything else? Is there any way in which you could have gotten an infection, or STDs?"

Hermione looked at the floor, sensing her mum's eyes intently on her, and she gulped. "I don't think I could have gotten STDs, they... it didn't...  it was mostly groping, really… and over my clothes… but I did notice some deep scratches afterwards. I had them disinfected, but maybe we could check, just in case?"

The woman looked quickly at Hermione's mum, who was now looking at the floor, her lips pressed so tightly together that they were barely visible in a straight line.

"Are you sure?" She asked again, evidently concerned.

"I am," Hermione had said.

"You also said that you haven't gotten your period in several months. Could you be pregnant?"

"No!" Hermione quickly replied, "no chance of that. I'm not pregnant. It must be that I was starving... that I haven't eaten properly in a long time." This time she didn't even look at her mum.

"And your eating. How come you have lost so much weight?"

"I forget to eat when I'm stressed, and school was mad last year," she lied fast.

And then, questions back to more familiar themes, the doctor gave her a paper full of checked boxes for exams for her to take. The following day, she would have to go to the laboratory, fasting, for a full physical, including a complete exam to her heart. The results would be ready in just a few days, and things would go from there.

Only that the weight of everything that had been discussed in the clinic still hung above their heads, even all these hours after the fact. Neither her parents nor herself had eaten much of their meals. The air was too thick and dense with unsaid words.

"Hermione," her dad began, evidently deciding it was time to put an end to the silence. "Your mum and I need to talk to you."

"Alright," Hermione said, carefully placing her fork back on the plate. For the second time that day, she tried to prepare herself to listen to what she did not want to hear. She now knew what they had been discussing when she had come down the stairs; they had been preparing for this conversation, looking to be a unified front, like they always had.

"We have told you that we are involved in a volunteering center. What we hadn't told you, is that it is more serious than you think it is." His voice filled the room, calm and soft yet deep. A voice that had always given her comfort, Hermione thought longingly. "The meeting I went to this morning was to figure out exactly what your mum and I will be doing for them. When we thought we were childless..." he stopped for a minute, but Hermione couldn't read what was going through his head. "Back then, we thought that helping others would help us fill the void and loneliness we felt at not having been able to have children of our own even if we had so desperately wanted one. So we got involved with this big organization, where you donate your time and knowledge to those less fortunate. Here there are several not-for-profit organizations that focus on teaching, and we promised our help to one of them. Right before you came to our door and back to our lives, we had promised we would teach a dentistry class in a community college. Your mum and I have been discussing this ever since you returned, because we know you want to go back to England and yet, we can't do that without breaking our promise to these people who are counting on us," he finished, and Hermione thought there was a tinge of hope in his voice that she would understand their reasons.

Even if she did, she immediately knew it would not make her happy.

"Darling," her mum continued, "don't ever doubt our love for you, and our happiness at finally being able to know you are our daughter, but you have to understand. We had started building a life for us here in Australia. And we feel we can't leave it behind, when there's nothing in England for us, now."

"What about me?" Hermione asked in a small, sad voice.

Her mum reached for her hand, squeezing it tight. "Well, you are here in Australia. And we would like you to stay here, with us."

Hermione felt like the floor opened beneath her, a heavy weight quickly pulling her down several meters. "You want me to stay here in Australia?"

"There's more," her mum said. "I know I only asked you this morning, but I want you to seriously consider this. We think that in living here, it would easier for you to live a normal life, one where there's no magic and no unknown, powerful dangers in your life. I can't imagine-- what you went through-- listening to some of it today at the clinic--" Her mum lifted her free hand to her mouth, evidently having a hard time controlling herself.

Hermione saw her dad's hand reach for her mum's shoulder in support as he turned to look back at her. "We expect that it would be difficult for you, leaving that behind, so we really want you to understand our reasons. Not only are we extremely wary of magic, as I'm sure you can empathize with," he tried to explain, "but we feel that it gets in the way of having a good relationship with you once more. How can we properly build a good family again, when we're not only so different, but we can't help but be scared of what you can do?"

Hermione didn't try to stop the tears that she felt quickly building behind her eyes, and let them fall freely. "Do you realise what you are asking of me? I am a witch, and there are people I love that I would have to leave behind. You're making me choose between you, my parents, who of course I love, and the life I feel is my own, and those I love that are part of it. I don't know if I can!" she exclaimed, frantically looking at her parents, hoping to see a spark of understanding.

"Oh, no, don't take it like that," her mum interjected, "we don't mean to make you choose between people you love. They can visit you here if you like, as long as they don't use their... you know, their magic. All we ask, is that you try to live a Muggle life here with us. That you promise us not to use magic, so that we can rebuild our family. Trusting you’ll keep your promise would be the first step in us learning to trust you completely. It will also mean that you’ll be safe, away from such a dangerous world you were involved with. We promise, you _can_ be happy without the use of magic. We are proof of that; we have never used magic and we're still happy with our lives, aren't we?"

"There's nothing really pulling you back to England right now, as you are of age and out of school,” her dad picked up the conversation after her mum. “You can maybe look for a job when you're ready, and go to college here in Australia if you decide that you want to get a degree. The new academic year won't be until the end of February next year, so you have time to think about it. What do you say?"

Hermione stayed silent, feeling shocked and trapped. How could she say no? If she did, she suspected her parents would be upset enough that they might react very poorly, maybe even causing a permanent break in their relationship. She did believe that their request came from a place of concern and love for her, but how could they not know how impactful their petition was? Even if they offered to receive her friends as visits, she didn't know whether they would be willing to come to Australia under those conditions. And they were mistaken, there was something --rather someone-- pulling her back to England. Only that she didn't know if they would understand.

"What if I said there is someone in England waiting for me? That there _is_ a reason for me to want to go back?" she softly asked, not looking up, hoping against hope that he was indeed waiting for her and that that reason would be enough for her parents.

A few moments went by, and finally her mum spoke. "He would be welcome to come here, if he feels the same way about you," she said. "There is no reason that it has to be you leaving your family behind..."

Hermione closed her eyes in sadness and frustration. Her parents were giving her no choice. There was no way out of this, it was either her parents, or her life in England. And where she could still expect that her friends could visit her, and perhaps she could foolishly hope that Ron would still want her and wait for her, she knew her parents would not forgive her if she said no. It would be the end of their relationship; she could say goodbye to her parents, she was sure of it. So really, she had no choice.

"I'll try. I don't know if I can, but I'll try," she said, and broke down crying.

Soon her parents' arms were around her, and she knew they were back to being a unit; she had given the right answer, yet all about it felt horribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you guys love Crookshanks and Ron's new friendship? They both miss Hermione together :( I'm pretty sure the inspiration to add Crookshanks in this story appeared from a conversation with Otterandterrier. I think she said something to the effect that Crookshanks should be included in post-war stories because he's Hermione's pet and shouldn't just be forgotten, and I replied by saying I'LL USE IT IF YOU LET ME THAT'S SO CUTE.  
> Thanks to everyone who takes the time to write me reviews. I'm not exaggerating when I say they are the best reward possible for a writer!


	10. From Hermione with Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So one of my online friends, one with whom I've been friends with the longest, just told me she discovered this story and I think she's hating me a bit for it. Hahahah, I'm so sorry (not). But her reaction and her words have inspired me to post this new chapter, so here it goes! Thank Anna for this new chapter!

_May 27, 1998_

_Dear Ron,_

_I guess it's good that I have been sending you letters through the Muggle post service, seeing as I just made a promise that would have ruined any sort of magical communication between us. I don't know how I'm going to stay true to my word, but I have to try, even if it tears my heart in two. Part of my heart will always love my parents, and I don't expect that to change... nor would I want it to. Still, they have forced me to tuck away my love for those dearest to me, and I'm angry, upset, and resigned._

_I'm sorry, I'm rambling. That must not make much sense to you. Let me start at the beginning._

_Things with my parents are on very shaky ground, like I think I told you in my previous letter. There is a divide between us. They don't trust me, and they especially don't trust magic. Not only because of what I did to them, but also because they now know most of what happened during the war and have come to the conclusion that magic cannot be safe. Therefore, they think the magical world is a dangerous place, one where they "cannot follow me to,” like my mum said. They're so afraid of it, of what I can do, and what can be done to me, that they have asked me to live a Muggle life here with them, in Australia._

_Oh, Ron, I didn't want to say yes. It makes me angry to know I had no choice but to agree. I knew they would forsake me if I said no. I couldn't risk that. I can only hope that in time, they'll realise I can't pretend I'm not a witch. What scares me about that plan, though, is that I don't know when that might happen..._

_You see, part of their plan is that we will all stay here in Australia. They made important commitments with an organization here, and have decided to stay. They will be teaching dentistry in a Community College. They also think that by being so far away from England and you and everyone, it'll be easier for me to give up on magic._

_I guess they're right, in a way. I loathe the very idea of continuing to use Bellatrix's wand, and I wouldn't know where to get a new wand here in Australia. I suppose I could have asked the Ministry of Magic about that, but now it's too late._

_When I told my parents I wanted to go back, that there's important people I wanted to see, they said that you all are welcome to come visiting as long as you don't use magic around them. I don't know how that could even be possible, but there it is, those are their conditions. I suppose you and Harry and Ginny, if she wants, could manage to figure out how to get here. That is, if you'd like to come._

_Or rather, if you feel you can. I imagine that the very idea of leaving your family behind would be difficult right now. It hasn't been that long since the final Battle, and I would think that you all might be wanting to stay together for a while. Still, maybe someday soon, you can consider coming to see me._

_As you can see, my hopes of returning back to England soon have been figuratively destroyed. Also, I had asked you to write to me through the Ministries of Magic. If you want to write to me, and want to ask them for help, please make sure that the Australian Ministry of Magic forwards your letter by using the Muggle postal service; I have a feeling my parents would be very upset if they sent an Owl-- or whatever it is they use here in Australia. Another option, that I don't like but may be best, would be for you to use the Muggle postal service directly from England. Maybe you can ask Harry to help you if you don't know how to do it? That would mean that I wouldn't get your letter until about a month from now... well, I suppose it could be worse. At least, in that scenario, I would still hear from you._

_It's well past midnight now; I'm incredibly tired, but I needed to write to you. One more thing, though. Today I went for a full physical check up. I'm wondering, have you gotten one? You should!_

_Write to me as soon as you can, will you?_

_I miss you._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

* * *

 

_May 31_

_Dear Ron,_

_Not much has happened in my life these past few days, but again, I simply wanted to write to you. Remember how in summertime, whenever I wasn't at the Burrow, we would write to each other every few days? Well, at least in the last few years of school. You never wrote much when we were in our second year, to name an example..._

_Things with my parents are fine. They seem happy and hopeful that we can truly start rebuilding our relationship. My mum took me out shopping; we got new clothes that fit me better and I also got a haircut. She insisted that I needed to look better than I did. I don't think she meant it in a bad way; I happen to agree with her, I didn't look very well. She was so excited. I think she felt it was a true mother-daughter bonding moment. I didn't have the heart to tell her I don't really care for shopping... I thought that if I did, it would only highlight the fact that she doesn't really know me that well now, after all those years where I practically grew up and became an adult away from her._

_Right now they're busy preparing their classes. They will begin teaching in the next term, which should be around July. It's funny thinking how they're in classes here at this time of the year, but those are the ways of the southern hemisphere..._

_Anyway, that's all I can really say._

_I miss you._

_With love,_

_Hermione._

* * *

 

_June 5_

_Dear Ron,_

_I have to say, life as a Muggle is not as difficult as I thought it would be. I know it's only been a few days, but so far, I haven't missed the use of magic, or at least, not so much. Like I said before, I think it really helps that I despise the only wand I have access to._

_Even so, how I wish I knew how you're doing! I worry, I can't help it. I still feel badly about leaving you when I'm sure you needed all the support you could get. And also, well, if I am to be honest, I also regret it for entirely selfish reasons. You see, I was hoping that we could finish that conversation we started in the Great Hall, immediately after the Battle. It doesn't make me proud, but it's my genuine answer._

_Again, I feel terribly foolish writing these things on paper. It makes me feel incredibly vulnerable. But I've been thinking and, well... we might not see each other for a few months. I don't know if I can stand going so long without knowing for sure; wondering what you would have said that day if Harry hadn't interrupted us._

_Alright, I'm going to be brave and write it. I can always choose not to send this letter after, right?_

_The thing is, I hope you know how I feel. I want to think that me kissing you is all you need to know. But I want to say this in case you have any doubts, and believe me, how could you? Yet I know how your mind works sometimes, so here it goes._

_I hope we can be together. As a couple._

_Gosh, it looks so strange, written in ink on white paper. It also looks strangely formal, but I don't know how else to say it. I guess that what really matters is that it should be clear now that what I feel for you is more than friendship._

_Part of me is terrified that what you were going to say that day was that you're not interested in me that way. If that's the case, please be gentle in telling me so. I don't think I can handle harsh words on top of a broken heart._

_You have no idea how difficult it is for me to write this. The main reason I'm doing it is because I hate uncertainty. Also, because I don't want to feel like I'm in limbo, which is a feeling I have had to fight a lot here in Australia. And when the promise of something between us is at stake, well, I guess I simply have to try._

_Good, it's out now. And I better send this letter before I lose all my nerve._

_Love, and now you know exactly what kind of love that is,_

_Hermione_

* * *

 

_Jun 6_

_Hi Ron,_

_Just a quick note. I suppose I can't ask you not to read the letter I sent you yesterday; you might have read it by the time you get this letter, anyway. I just wanted to say that you don't need to feel pressured by what I said, and don't worry if you don't feel the same way, we're still friends and it's all right._

_Simply write me a letter saying whether we are still friends or something more. If you like._

_Okay, that's the last I say about the topic._

_Now back to being friends until I hear otherwise._

_Hermione_

_* * *_

_June 9_

_Dear Ron,_

_Something happened and I need my best friend._

_First of all, know that the full physical exam I told you about determined I'm in relatively good health. They gave me some medicine and a few vitamins to speed up my recovery, but otherwise, all I need to do now is to eat properly and I'll be fine. It appears that what is happening to me is more psychological in nature. If I haven't told you before it's because I don't want to worry you unnecessarily. Basically, I'm doing it to myself, and I'm trying to deal with it._

_In the beginning, I got really, really anxious at any time of the day, more than usual even for me. Now it mostly happens at night. Well, just two hours ago I had an anxiety attack. My mum was trying to calm me down; she was hugging me and talking to me, only that I didn't want her touching me or to say anything. I got really flustered, so much I couldn't even speak to explain to her I just needed some time by myself. Then my dad came home and saw what was happening, and they both were hugging me and I just needed to breath for I felt like I was suffocating. I needed space so badly that I think it caused me to have an outburst of uncontrolled magic, just like when I was a little child._

_My parents fell backwards, like I had physically pushed them back away from me. It wasn't too bad, I don't think, but it was obvious for the three of us that it had been magic that had caused it. After the shock wore off and once I finally started feeling better, I tried to explain that I hadn't done it on purpose. I think they believed me; they remembered other things happening as I grew up and before I went to Hogwarts. I told them I couldn't help it, that magic is still a part of me even if I'm trying to push that away. That maybe that was partly why it had happened, because I'm repressing it._

_I think it made sense to them, even if it didn't make them very happy. I'm afraid to hope for too much, but maybe it will show them that I can't live a Muggle life because, well, I'm not a Muggle. I don't want to be one, either. Maybe, with some time, they'll come to accept that._

_It is strange to me that something bad like what happened is giving me hope. It's just a tiny step towards returning to my life with their blessing. I don't think I can purposely create a divide between us by leaving them here in Australia and returning to England, especially not before they have fully forgiven me for everything I've done to them. So I guess I have to sacrifice my wishes in order to have a good relationship with them. I hope that it's worth it._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

* * *

 

_June 12_

_Dear Ron,_

_How are you? I long to hear from you. How about Harry, Ginny, and the rest of your family? I miss you all so much. I haven't written to anybody else, but maybe I should. Do you think it would be all right if I wrote to your parents, as well? In any case, do tell the others to write to me, too._

_I haven't heard from you yet and, to be honest, it makes me very nervous. Have you not been receiving my letters? Or worse, maybe you have, but choose not to reply for some reason?  I can almost hear you say, "Hermione, don't jump to conclusions and relax," but if you know me at all (and you do), then you'll know I can't unless I see proof that there's nothing to worry about. In this case, the perfect proof would be to receive a letter from you, and until that day comes, I'll simply have to learn how to live with uncertainty… nevermind how much I hate that feeling._

_Anyway, even if my letters are currently a one-way conversation, they still help me feel closer to you and to our world. So let me tell you what I imagine you have been doing this summer so far._

_I think you have been a nice son and a nice brother to your family, trying to be supportive of them and Harry. You are probably trying to keep your temper in check, so as to not upset anybody. I imagine you have been eating a lot, compensating for all those months of near starvation. Mornings are probably a lazy time, where you take your time to do the chores that are your turn to do. Then, in the afternoons, the three of you go to the pond or to play Quidditch, like you would usually do during the summer time._

_It sounds idyllic, but I do know it probably hasn't been as nice as I make it seem. I fully expect it to still be difficult for all of you to adapt to such tragedy. Still, I like to imagine you having a bit of peace after everything that we have been through._

_I think that's all I can write about today. My life is not very eventful of late._

_Things are back to a status quo with my parents. I sometimes get the feeling they're looking at me differently, but I'm not sure whether that's good or not. I will let you know as soon as I know._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

* * *

 

A few days later, Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, a bottle of pills in her hand. She had been given medicine to help her sleep, which she hadn't used yet, and another to stabilize her mood, which she took every day. Although she generally hated the idea of depending on chemicals for anything, she knew she needed help.

The psychiatrist had confirmed her suspicions, she had PTSD. He had said that symptoms should go away with time, but that if they didn't, she would need a stronger dose of medicine and therapy to help her cope.

She didn't want to get to that point.

Yet tonight she seemed to be having more problems than usual to fall asleep, and was wondering if maybe she should give this second set of pills a try. One of the main things stopping her from taking it was that she had heard they could make you really groggy, and she didn't want to feel like that. The stabilizers already made her feel strange, and she didn't want to add more on top of that. So she hesitated.

She left the bottle on her bedside table again, undecided. She could just write Ron another letter, and see if she would be tired enough after sealing the envelope.

Yet... had she been writing too many letters? She probably had. What if he wasn't interested in her? What if he felt overwhelmed by the amount of letters she had sent? She didn't feel like she could stop herself, though. Like she had written in one of her previous letters, she needed to talk to her best friend. Besides, it gave her a good excuse to leave the house for a little while, so that she could go to the post office and send it. Even if her hand shook as she gave the new letter to the clerk behind the counter, like it had a few days before.

Merlin, it still made her nervous to think of that letter. She felt sometimes like a constant debate was going on in her mind. Sometimes she chastised herself for sending it, and yet others she became resolute and simply told herself all the benefits of having taken the risk: if he felt the same way, they could figure out a way to be together; if he didn't, she'd rather know so that she could figure out a way to move on. When she was seeing it optimistically, she willed the days to go faster and faster, so that she could get his letter, and faster yet, so that she could see him again. When she was seeing it pessimistically, though, she barely managed to at least be glad she was on the other side of the world. She might need that distance to get over her love for him.

Not that she had much hopes of moving on. She had tried many times before. When she had first realised she had a crush on him, when she had realised she was in love with him. When he had chosen someone else. When he had left during the hunt. She had tried it all, and it never worked. One way or another, she had always ended up admitting she loved him, and that was it. Now she didn't want to have to try again, and was hoping against hope that things would work out for them.

_But what if they don't?_

Annoyed, she got up and took a few steps to stare outside her window. She hated that back and forth in her head, how she was doubtful then hopeful then back to doubtful again. She wished she wasn't always doubting, and that she wasn't so good at being her own devil's advocate.

_I miss you, Ron_ , she thought. _You know how to get me to stop doing that, to work myself up like that_.

She knew she had been slightly misleading in her letters. She hadn't told him the extent of her issues, but really, what was the point? He couldn't do anything about it, and she knew that knowing would make him worry. She didn't want that for him, not when she was sure he was dealing with many things on his own.

A knock on the door distracted her, and she turned to see her mum open it slightly.

"Dear? Are you still up? I saw the light under the door."

"Yes, come in. I'm still up."

Her mum came in and sat at the foot of her bed, looking at Hermione with concern on her face.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

Hermione sighed and sat at the chair in the corner of her room. "I'm okay, I guess. Just couldn't sleep."

"Yes, I've noticed. You still haven't tried the sleeping pills, yet, then?"

Hermione nodded her head no. "I don't want to take too many pills at the same time."

"And how's your mood? Is it better?"

"I guess. It feels... flat, I think. With spikes of strong emotion. It's strange."

"Hermione, love, why do you think this is happening to you? Is it the PTSD only, or do you think there's more?"

Hermione looked at her mum's face, trying to decipher what she was thinking. "What do you mean?" she asked when she failed reading her. "Do you think there's more than PTSD?"

"No, not like an illness, but—" she sighed to try to collect her thoughts. "The thing is, I've been observing you. And thinking. I remember you growing up and doing things your dad and I couldn't understand, and your joy when they visited us and explained you are a witch. You were so _happy_ when you came to see us during breaks; busy as always with schoolwork, even stressed by it, but _happy_. What I don't have any memories of is of you being like this, depressed and anxious to the point of needing medicine to help you through it."

Hermione looked down to the floor, deciding exactly how to respond to that. "I don't think I had ever felt like this, no," she finally said.

"And are you feeling like this only because of what happened to you, or is there more?"

Hermione looked up to her mum, not wanting to say what was on her mind in case it wasn't what her mum was getting at. "What are you asking, mum?"

"I guess that what I mean is... is our request making it worse for you? Being away from your friends, from your magic? I've seen you writing all those letters, and it made me realise that you're not ready to leave all of that behind; that you truly do care about them."

"But I love you and dad, too! I love my friends so much, and yes, I do miss my world! I don't know how to explain this to you, because I don't want to hurt you. But... I don't belong here. I can't be a Muggle, because I am not. And even if you can understand that and are fine with me using magic again, I wouldn’t know how to make it work. I can't simply replicate here the magical world I belong to in England. Yet if I go, you won't go with me, and it's like I'm forced to choose between you and the life I want for myself. I couldn't do that," Hermione said, wiping her face dry, surprised that she was crying. She hadn't actually cried in days. "No," she insisted, "I couldn't do that."

"Oh, love!"

Hermione's mum came to her, and Hermione reacted by standing up and meeting her half way. They hugged, holding each other close.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," her mum said. "I never meant to cause you pain."

"I get it. What I did was horrible. I just need to know you have forgiven me. I swear I'll keep magic around you to a minimum!"

Her mum laughed. "And I do appreciate that, but I want you to understand." She let go of Hermione and put her hands on Hermione's shoulders. "I think that only now I can truly see what this all has cost you. I can see why you felt you had to do what you did to us, even if I still don’t approve of it. You came right away to find us and have done your best, your _best_ to mend the relationship. You have given in and done everything we asked. I think it's time we did some giving, too."

Hermione nodded her head in understanding. Her mum lifted her hand to Hermione's face in a loving caress.

"Anger and fear got in the way of us truly looking at you, and for that I’m sorry. Relationships are always a two-way balance. I could not stand knowing we're happy at the cost of your own happiness. We need to find that balance. Is that all right?"

"More than all right, mum," Hermione replied, thankfulness and hope filling her chest.

"C'mon, your dad is still awake. Let's go tell him. We'll figure it out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is definitely a game changer! I'm so excited to show you guys what's coming next! And I'm curious… what do *you* think is going to happen next?
> 
> I want you to know, I have to think about when is a good idea to post again. I don't want to post too quickly or else I'm going to end up posting everything before I have a chance to write enough to always stay a few chapters ahead. This was chapter 10 and, as of now, I'm writing chapter 22. I *think* there're going to be around 10-15 chapters after this, for a total of ~35 chapters. Oops! I sure hope you guys like long stories… Should I say that I'm sorry? Because I'm not, really (sorry for not being sorry, perhaps.)
> 
> Before I finish, I want to add a disclaimer: Hermione's thoughts and reactions are what I imagine is realistic for the character, based both on how I understand Hermione's character and decisions I've made in regards to the story's plot. I'm not trying to endorse this particular treatment for PTSD, nor trying to create a discussion on the advantages and disadvantages of any of the many potential treatments available for PTSD or any other mental health issue.  
> Please, for the love of whatever you hold holy, and even if you hold nothing as holy, do not let this fic influence your views on what should be the correct therapy for a mental health issue. That's what professionals are for. If you need it, ask for help, okay?


	11. Anew

Ron looked around the main section of the store, admiring the products in their perfect boxes. There still wasn't as much inventory on the shelves as he would have liked, but they were getting a big delivery later that day that should fix that problem. Satisfied, he walked back to the office, sitting at the desk in order to keep on filing documents, getting paperwork ready, and generally preparing for the grand opening.

He sighed. Things were slightly crazy. Harry and Ginny would arrive any time now, to help with... well, with anything and everything. Heading a business was a lot of work, and expectations were running high. They had paid for publicity on that morning's newspaper, and there already had been three people coming into the shop thinking it was open. Ron hadn't been fooled, though, they truly just wanted a peek at the store to gossip about with their friends. It didn't matter that Ron had set a big sign outside stating the grand opening date in bold letters; big golden prints in a happy  _ Friday June 19th, 16:00 hrs -- You Are All Invited! _ , the curiosity was bigger than the font. He wasn't going to complain, though. The more people wondered, the more they would fill every available square meter as soon as they opened the door.

Still, after the second intruder, Ron had added a sign right at eye level on the main door, requesting that only product delivery people come in. He would have fully closed the door, or put a spell of some kind on it, but he wanted people to see activity in the store. He thought it would get people even more excited.

Absentmindedly, he reached for that day's Prophet to check on the insert, which should be on the third page. He quickly skimmed the headlines, out of habit more than anything, except that something got his eye. Down in the corner, where one would usually find the tabloid section highlights, he saw his name.

Rather, his last name.

_ Weasleys reopening trick shop. _

Then, in smaller print, a subheading.  _ How soon is too soon? _

Instantly fuming, Ron opened the newspaper to the right page, found the article, and read.

In less than three minutes, he remembered exactly how horrid these columns could be. There had barely been any mention of Harry and his family for weeks, only small, innocent notes here and there. They had thought that maybe they would be fine, and that the papers had decided to give them respectful space. They had been wrong.

The note on today's edition implied that his family was thirsty for galleons, so that they had decided not to wait before reopening the family business. They questioned whether Harry had invested money in it, too, since a  _ source _ had confirmed he was going to become an Auror and was evidently looking to set himself for the future by getting in as many  _ positions of power _ as he could.

Ron quickly rolled up the newspaper and threw it to the garbage. They had taken two facts and woven a story full of misleading implications. And there was nothing he could do about it.

He tapped his fingers on the desk's wooden surface, hoping the movement would somehow release some of his annoyance. Kingsley had tried to warn them, and his deep voice echoed in his head again now, advising him to let it go. To make himself feel better, he tried to concentrate on how the business might be affected by it, and finally decided that it probably was a sort of publicity. As long as the people he cared about knew the truth, and as long as it didn't affect anybody at their work, he supposed he could try to ignore it this time. He hoped things like that wouldn't happen too often; he didn't know if he would be able to simply learn to live with it, adapt to a life where people talked about you with maliciousness like that.

_ I told you _ , he imagined Harry saying, and Ron smirked. The git.

Well, what really mattered now was George. He hoped he hadn't seen the article. Ron had a feeling it would have made him take a couple of steps back in his recovery.

He had come to visit the shop that morning. He hadn't been there much yet, and had mostly sat with Ron for a while each day planning the reopening. In the beginning it had taken a lot of coercing; at times George got really mad at Ron and, at others, he simply responded in monosyllables as if talking was too big an effort for him. Yet Ron didn't give up; he kept on trying to get George to participate and have a say in organizing the new Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

The first time George had actually come to the store had been a hard time. Harry, Ginny, and Ron had been there, and had tried their best to support him. It had been better the second time, and better the third--that morning. George wasn't sure yet if he wanted to be there on Friday; he was afraid that the amount of people and the noise might be too much for him. Still, Ron was optimistic. If he got George to come to the store at least once a day once they were full on running, he would consider it a success.

A bell sounded above his head, announcing someone had opened the front door. Harry and Ginny would have Apparated directly to the flat above, so it couldn't be them. He quickly checked the time, and as it was too early for the product delivery, he realised it must be another person that thought the shop was open. With a sigh, he got up and went out of the office.

"Hello?" He called, scanning the place for someone.

And then he saw her.

"Hi, Ron," Hermione said.

It took him several moments and two forced swallows to believe his eyes. Could it be, that it really was her? His eyes soaked in her presence, like the first ray of sunlight after the longest winter night. She was standing close to the door, looking as scared as he felt, her interlocked hands hanging in front of her. Her hair was short, her eyes full of doubt, and even at a distance he could see her biting the inside of her lips.

Ron wasn't sure if his heart was still beating, or if what he was seeing was real. He felt himself getting slightly dizzy, desperately wanting to run to her, to hug her, to feel the volume of her body against his; to collect evidence that she was truly there, in the same room as him. Yet he didn't know if he was allowed to do it, and did nothing. He just leaned and held onto the standing display next to him, trying to regain his balance, almost deaf by the buzzing in his ears. He tried to smile, but his lips didn't do much better than quiver a little.

"I… I read the sign asking not to come in, of course, but I hope you don't mind?" she started talking, gaining speed with each word as she continued. "I saw a light through the window and thought that maybe someone would be here, I didn't know it would be you. I am glad it's you, though! I wasn't sure I should come in; I didn't know if I was welcome, what with the sign on the door and all. But then, maybe I was, and what if you knew I had been right next door and chose not to come in? I wouldn't want you to get the wrong impression! So I decided to try and see who was here, I have missed everyone so much!"

She went suddenly quiet, as if regretting talking so much. She pursed her lips, and then said, "sorry about that. I'm nervous," she finished with a small smile.

Ron let go of the stand and slowly walked to her, still only half-believing she was there in front of him. He stopped before an imaginary line, right where he would have intruded her personal space, and took a good look at her again: the curve of her cheek, a sharp clavicle, the line of her shoulder.

"You are one of my best friends and my family loves you," he heard himself say, locking his eyes with hers again, his voice lower and more unsure than he would have liked. "Of course you're welcome!"

"Oh, Ron!"

Hermione's arms were suddenly around his neck, and Ron bent to hug her back with almost despair, insanely grateful for it, needing to reinforce her presence to him. One of his hands went around her waist, pulling her close, and the other got tangled in her hair. He inhaled deeply, trying to catch its scent. Having the mass of her body between his arms, so close to him, was everything he needed to be sure that she was here, she was fine, and she was with him.

A noise came from the back of the shop, prompting them to let go of each other. The front of his body felt too cold now that she was no longer pressed close to him. "That'll be Harry and Ginny," he explained, his voice slightly coarse. "They'll--"

A high-pitched, happy scream silenced him, and he saw a blur of red hair running past him and enveloping Hermione in a tight hug. "They'll be thrilled to see you," Ron unnecessarily finished.

"Hermione! I can't believe it!" Harry was exclaiming, hugging her quickly and then affectionately rubbing and patting Hermione's back.

"When did you get here?" Ginny asked, hugging her again. "Why didn't you say you were coming? Your hair looks lovely like that!"

Ron looked again at Hermione, unable to get enough of her. His eyes traveled down the curve of her neck, now exposed thanks to her short hair. Her face was alight with joy. He didn't realise he was suddenly smiling himself.

"I got back here only a few hours ago. I was going to owl you all tomorrow morning. I just had to come get a new wand; I was on my way back home when I saw the light and decided to see if anyone was here."

"I'm so glad you did," Ginny continued. "We have missed you! Tell me, what are your plans for this evening?"

"Oh, I really should get back home. I need to get it back in working order, and I should start cleaning up if I have the energy for it. I'm so tired from the travelling. Australia is just so far away! And I don't want to impose, really..."

"Nonsense," Ginny declared, "though I get you're tired. Tell you what. We do have stuff to do here, but we can come tomorrow to your house and help you clean. We're experts at it now, after dealing with the Burrow and the shop. Then you can come with us back home, we're having family dinner to celebrate the reopening of the shop. You should join us."

"I'm not sure..."

"C'mon, Hermione!" Harry interjected. "I will be there, and so should you, now that you're back in England. Besides, there's this one ginger that can't wait to show you his love," he said mischievously.

Both Ron and Hermione looked at him, slightly panicked.

"Crookshanks has missed you a lot!" He finished, smirking, and Ginny slapped his arm while laughing alongside him.

"Crookshanks!" Hermione exclaimed, as she thought of her pet. "He's alright, then?"

"He is! He'll be ecstatic to see you. Everybody will," Ginny insisted.

"All right, then, if you think it’s okay, I will go with you. I'll see you all tomorrow morning."

They all said bye, and watched Hermione slowly turn and close the door behind her.

Instantly, Ginny and Harry turned to Ron, expectant and intruding.

"What?" He asked, slightly affronted, not knowing how to react to their looks.

Ginny shook her head and walked away with a sigh. Harry followed, patting him on the back a few times before disappearing into the warehouse.

Ron stayed where he was, his face slowly setting into a gesture that made him look very much like he had been Confunded. He turned back to looking at the main door, closed now that Hermione had gone home.

To her home here in England.

She was back.

Yet he didn't know what that meant for them.

"Fuck," he whispered.

_ Now what _ ?

* * *

 

"Ron! Wake up!" Ginny exclaimed as she opened the door to his room. "You have a date!"

Groaning and without even attempting to open his eyes, Ron took his pillow and covered his face.

"C'mon, get up!" she insisted, her voice telling him she was standing next to his bed. "We have lots to do. You don't want to disappoint Hermione, do you?"

He lifted the pillow from his face, but didn't open his eyes. "Stop it, Ginny," he said grumpily.

"What's that?" she asked, faking annoyance. "Don't tell me you're in a bad mood already? I thought you would be all smiles today, now that Hermione's back!"

He sat up in bed and gave her a serious look. "Don't. Stop."

"Hey, what happened?" she seemed genuinely concerned now.

"Nothing. Leave it be," he evaded.

She huffed. "Suit yourself. I'll be downstairs making some food to take to Hermione's. Then we'll leave. You better be ready," she said, and left his room.

He tried to be mad at her, but knew it to be unfair. He was mad at himself, really.

For some reason, he had thought that he would finally have a decent night's rest. Yet he had had the usual problems falling asleep, and as the hours went by, he had managed to turn everything that had been good about the world into a series of questions and doubts, all of which had plagued him until well into the night.

Yes, Hermione was back, but did that really mean anything? She  _ had _ gone away in the first place, and had stayed away and unreachable for one and a half months. Had she even thought about him? How could he know whether she felt for him the same way he still felt about her?

He kept going back to the precious five minutes they had been together the day before. He spent half the night carefully dissecting each word, each gesture, trying to figure out if anything could be an indication about her feelings. By the time he was actually falling asleep, he had decided he had no way to know. His mood was so low, that he had been sure she probably didn't care for him that way. She had treated him in exactly the same way she had treated Harry and Ginny, so why would he think she thought of him in any special way?

He finally got up from his bed and walked to the closet. He moved some of his clothes away, to find the book he had hidden there in what seemed like ages ago. A book that once had given him directions on how to get Hermione to notice him the way he wanted; a book that had given him the confidence to try to make her fall in love with him.

Yet he still doubted. He had been hurt when she had left, right after he had offered to help her with her parents, knowing she wouldn't be able to come back in a while. And he had needed her. He felt bad that it made him angry to know she hadn't chosen him, when the alternative had been to postpone her parents, living with the guilt of it. He couldn't help it, though, he felt like he didn't matter to her when he thought of it.

So yes, he was hurt. It almost made him wish he could forget how his body and mind had reacted at the sight of her, like learning a new spell and feeling a brand new kind of magic running through your veins; like everything was finally going to be alright. He almost wanted to feel differently, but it had felt too good to really want it gone. And he knew it had happened because he still loved her, and he would never want to stop loving her, if only because he knew he never could.

He put the book back in its hiding place and reached for jeans and a faded shirt. He changed clothes quickly, his mind still running fast, trying to solve the puzzle of all his conflicted feelings. He was hurt, yet he longed for her. He was mad, at her and about her. Yet none of that was as infuriating as the nagging doubt of what to do about it, when he didn't know how she actually felt about him.

* * *

 

Hermione woke up with an extremely faint memory of something waking her up that was still ringing in the air, and with a headache that she immediately blamed on the sleeping pills she had tried for the first time the day before. The change in time zones had made it even more difficult to fall asleep, and she had thought that medicated sleep might help her fix her circadian rhythm. Perhaps it had helped, glancing at her alarm clock and seeing she had slept for nearly twelve hours. Still, she made a note of not taking them if she could avoid them.

Wait... twelve hours? She checked her clock again as she sat up in bed, slightly panicked. It was almost eleven in the morning! She had to get up before--

A knock on the door.

_ Too late _ , she thought as she opened her bedroom door and ran down the stairs straight to the main door. She quickly checked through the peephole and, seeing her friends, she opened the door to greet them. "Hi! Sorry, I slept in," she apologized. "I'm so jet lagged! Come on in!"

She saw the three of them come in, smiling back at Harry and Ginny, a smile that faltered when she saw Ron frowning. Her stomach fell to the floor, but she tried not to pay attention to it. Instead, she asked, "is everything alright?"

"How do you know it's really us?" Ron asked in return, his lips closing into a pressed line.

"Oh..." she quickly realised what he was implying, and was annoyed that he thought her so careless. "I put up wards around the house last night, one of which was to lift any disguising spells. You still look like you so I think we're fine."

He grumbled something and looked up at her. She had time to see him start in surprise but not to ask him why, before Ginny distracted her. "Don't mind him, Hermione. He's a bit pissy. But, hey, wow," she exclaimed, "your house is beautiful!"

"Yeah, Hermione," Harry added in agreement, "I hadn't been here before, it looks so... polished! Dusty, but nice."

Hermione laughed a nervous laugh. It somehow made her uncomfortable that they were so evidently admiring the place she had grown up in. "Oh, it's not  _ that  _ amazing. My parents have a good eye for this sort of thing, it's all."

"Talking about that, where are your parents?" Harry asked, looking around once more.

"In Australia," she said. She saw all three of her friends look at her in shock, and she couldn't help but laugh at their expression. "Sorry, I understand why that would be surprising. Why don't you all go to the kitchen? It's back there," she gestured. "Let me go change and I'll come back, then we can quickly go out and get something to eat before we clean up the place. I'll explain everything then."

Harry lifted a bag and gave her a smile. "No worries. We've got food!"

"Alright, then, be right back!"

Hermione turned around and went up the stairs in record time, hurrying to get changed before going back to her friends. She closed her door and opened the suitcase she had left on the floor the day before, deciding quickly on jeans and a nicely patterned mint-green shirt. She was suddenly thankful of all the shopping her mum had forced her to do; if nothing else, she hoped it made her look a little better than what they had seen as she had opened the door. She removed her shirt, which honestly looked quite rat--

"Oh, no," Hermione gasped, realising she was wearing Ron's clothes as pajamas, her hands clutching the old shirt to her naked torso.

He had noticed, she was sure of it. That would explain his startle. What would he think about it? Should she mention it at all, try to explain why she had been wearing his shirt?

After a moment of consideration and nerves, she decided it would be too awkward to say anything. She’d better try not think about it, and hope he didn't bring up. As for Harry and Ginny, chances were they didn't notice, right? The clothes were so old and looked so different on her that they probably didn't even realise. Determined to not let it make her feel embarrassed, she reached for her comb, tried to put her hair under submission with a few pins, and ran back down the stairs.

She found them in the kitchen as expected, and was amused at Ginny inspecting the coffee machine. "So this makes coffee?"

"Not any kind of coffee, but espresso," Hermione replied with a smile.

"Fancy," Harry said, being the only one who truly understood what it meant."So you take after your dad, after all?" he added, teasing Ginny.

"Well, I can't help it, can I? I was trying to think, and I can't recall ever being in a Muggle house before."

"Should we eat?" Hermione asked, suddenly noticing she was extremely hungry, as she hadn't eaten the evening before.

They all sat around the kitchen table and reached for the sandwiches.

"So what happened?" Ron asked, and it seemed to her like he was trying not to sound too curious. "How come your parents are still in Australia? I thought that was the whole point of you leaving so quickly," he added, frowning at his sandwich. She didn't know how to interpret his grumpiness, and knew she would think about it non-stop whenever she had the time. Right now, though, the conversation was going too quick for her to stop and consider the many possibilities of why Ron seemed to be upset.

"You did find your parents, didn't you?" Harry was asking, concerned. It effectively distracted her, for it made her realise what it meant.

"Wait," she interrupted, "you haven't gotten any of my letters yet?"

She looked at Ron, who had whipped his head up to return her searching look. She tried to catch any sign that he had received anything, if only just two or so of her letters. He seemed genuinely confused, though, indicating he hadn't.  _ Oh _ , she thought, looking down back to her half-eaten sandwich, feeling utterly desolated.

"You wrote?" He whispered.

"Yes. I sent several letters. At least two of them should have arrived by now, I would have thought!" She complained, her heart heavy with the realisation Ron had not gotten one single letter from her yet.

"That's weird," Ginny said. "We have had no issues with missing letters, that we know of. All owls have come to the Burrow no problems--"

"I didn't send them the magical way," Hermione explained, saddened and concerned. "I had to use the Muggle postal service."

"The Muggle Post? Well, that explains it," Harry commented through a mouthful of food. "But why?"

"Because they closed the borders to  _ anything _ magical," she explained, chancing a look at Ron again. He was intently focused on her. "I tried to go through the Ministries, but they couldn't do it. I had no other option," she insisted, wanting them all to understand. Specially Ron, but Harry and Ginny, too.

"It's been more than a month since I sent the first one, though," she continued. "Shouldn't they have arrived?"

"Well, I don't know how often we get sent Muggle mail. I don't know exactly how it works. Do you?" Ginny asked Ron. He nodded his head no. "We'll look into it, then," she assured her.

"Your parents, though," Harry said, changing the topic. "I still don't get why they're still in Australia, if you did find them."

"Oh, well..." she hesitated, not knowing how to begin nor how much to say. "I did find them, and they  _ are _ coming back, just not now. They had made a commitment to teach a dentistry course; they're going to do a full term and then return to England. Things were not easy between us, but they should be back before Christmas," she mentioned in what she hoped was a casual tone.

"Alright," Ginny said, getting up from the table and wiping her mouth with a napkin. "We better get going. We can't be late for tonight's dinner. We'll ask mum and dad about how we get any Muggle mail delivered to our home, but now it's cleaning time!" she exclaimed as she held her wand in her hand and gestured a definite flourish.

Harry followed Ginny, leaving Ron and Hermione to clean up the food. Yet she didn't stand up yet, nor did he.

"Did they understand?" Ron softly asked, almost as if in spite of himself. The sudden concern in his voice almost made her cry, but she managed to hold it in.

"No, not really," she whispered back. "Things were very bad for a while."

Silence grew between them. Hermione found herself unsure of how much to say, knowing that all details were in the letters he would soon be reading. He would suddenly know almost every detail of how things had been for her, how much she had thought about him, and exactly how she felt about it all and about him. It was a scary thought. She still didn't know how to interpret his mood today, and didn't know whether it meant anything for their future.

"I wish we had gotten your letters, Hermione. I'll look into that," he said in the same tone of voice as before, his words eerily echoing her own line of thinking.

"If it helps to find them," she found herself saying, and went on before she lost all her nerve, "they were all addressed to you."

They held each other's look for a moment, the air itself vibrating with unspoken questions. Yet she didn't push it and simply focused on the small spark that had appeared behind Ron's eyes. She realised it had been the right thing to say, and it gave her hope for their future. She now knew all questions would be answered. They had time, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it! Several of you asked me or commented on when the heck was I going to make this happen? All I told you was I wasn't going to give you spoilers---and I hope you think the wait was worth it and you enjoyed this chapter! Gaaaah, I'm nervous to know your reaction!
> 
> I want to thanks all my readers, and do a little cheerleading thankful dance for all those who take the time to review. Picture me dancing with pompoms for a moment… or not. It's just that each one of them make me so happy! When I look back at my older stories I cringe at certain choices or what now I think of as mistakes in my writing, but I like to think they've helped me learn how to be a better writer. I'm using all of that in this story, the creativity and the time and the dedication, and to know you guys are enjoying it makes it all the better. Each review makes me want to post a new chapter right away, just to make you happy, lol! And I would, only that my productivity can't keep up with that kind of frequency…
> 
> A special shout out to annabellemelishphoto on Tumblr for helping me with the britpicking!


	12. The Distance Between Us

Ron moved the shower's curtain to the side, stepping out of it and reaching for the towel. He hurried to get ready, quickly rubbing himself dry. He took his wand and dried the mirror with an effective spell, so that he could see himself clearly. He run his fingers through his wet hair in a way that he hoped would make it stay back. Having his hair falling on his eyes was getting old very quickly. It was now well past his ears, so that when he turned his head to the side, his hair easily brushed his shoulders.

He reached for his underwear and stepped into it; he then did the same with his faded jeans. He took his shirt up by the shoulders, and turned it front to back to front, critically assessing how it would look on him. It was a blue one, and once Hermione had told him in passing that he looked good in blue. It would be fine, then. Blue shirt it was.

As he put the shirt on, he thought back to that moment when Hermione had told him she liked him in blue. It had been during one of the times she had stayed at the Burrow during summer, and he had been complaining about how he barely had any shirts left after his last growth spurt. He had pulled down his shirt from its bottom hem, and it had happened to be blue. He had said, "look at this! It barely reaches my belt!" to which she had responded, "it's not that bad, and you look nice in blue."

Back then he had just discovered —rather, accepted— that he had a crush on one of his best friends, and he had tried to joke to himself that at least his hormones had picked the female of the pair. Still, nothing had been the same after having admitted to himself that he fancied Hermione, and every comment from her had gained a new meaning. At the time, he had stuttered and looked away, not knowing how to react. He promised himself that, if she happened to say anything good about his looks today, he would embrace it.

He bent down to put on his socks and shoes, his hair covering his eyes again. He stood and reached for the comb this time, running it through his darkened hair, hoping that this time it would stay in place. He had used a comb, after all, and wasn't that its purpose? Still, he knew it wouldn't last. He turned his head from side to side, considering. Should he cut it? He didn't have the time right now, but also didn't want it falling onto his face while eating dinner. If only he could keep it back...

He opened the bathroom's cabinet and looked for an old bottle of Sleekeazy he remembered seeing there. He moved things around, but couldn't seem to find it; someone had to have thrown it away. He kept on looking, trying to find an alternative, when he saw Ginny's box of hair ties. He lifted the lid, taking one of the round elastic bands out of it between two fingers. That was definitely an option, only...

Only that Bill was the one Weasley that could pull off a ponytail, besides Ginny herself. Ron knew that if he tried to tie his hair back everyone would mercilessly tease him. No way he would let that happen, not when Hermione was still there to have an opinion as well. Yet it was the only option he had at the moment, so he put the elastic band in his pocket for later, just in case, and left the bathroom.

Ron reached his bedroom, threw his dirty clothes on his bed and turned around, standing in front of his open door. He took a couple of deep breaths, purposely trying to calm himself down before going downstairs. He didn't want to seem too impatient, after all.

The thing was, he _was_ impatient. Having seen Hermione using his clothes as pajamas had done things to him. Not only in _that_ sense —a matter he had taken care of quickly in the shower, which had led him to realize he hadn't had a wank in weeks, maybe even a couple of months— but also in terms of what might happen between them. People didn't just wear other people's clothes to bed, did they? At least, he had heard it was the kind of thing girls did with their boyfriend's clothes, and once Lavender had asked for one of his shirts for just that purpose (which he never gave to her, of course; it had happened soon after Ron had started regretting the relationship). Yet, just to think that Hermione had maybe been thinking of him that way when she had put on his shirt to sleep... Not only that, but after she had said that she had sent several letters, and all directed at him. He may not have read them yet to know exactly what they said, but the fact she had actually tried to contact them, contact _him_ , was in itself something noteworthy. How often had he complained that she had not sent him one letter in all the time she had been away? A thousand times, at least. It had made him feel like she didn't care about him at all, not even as a friend. Knowing she had thought about him while in Australia had changed that, and had made him think that if nothing else, she did care about their friendship.

He started going down the stairs in what he hoped was a normal pace, one that he didn't realize was actually much slower than his usual three-steps-at-a-time method, thinking about how he could know whether Hermione felt anything for him beyond friendship. There was the kiss, of course. She _had_ kissed him, even if it was just one time, in the middle of a war zone, many weeks ago. Whether it had been a passing fancy or not, she had to have seen something in him to kiss him like that. She might not think back to it often; she might not even remember why she had done it. Yet he wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, if he played his cards right, he could manage to make her see in him again whatever she saw in him once. Then, if he carefully followed a nice plan he had yet to devise, he might hope that her feelings would evolve into something more, something good enough to make her want to be with him. Not only for a kiss, but for as long as she could love him.

Yes, he was still hurt, he still didn't know why she had gone to Australia alone when he had said he wanted to go with her; he still had doubts that she felt for him the way he felt for her, but that was all currently being overpowered by a confusing, hesitant hope. So what he needed just now was to spend time with her, to observe her and maybe even try to see how she would react to him sending subtle signs; see if she would welcome them, which might be a sign she was interested in him in that way, after all.

He reached the first floor and did a quick scan, as casually as he could, not seeing Hermione. He tried to remind himself to be patient, and went to the kitchen to help his mum instead. She still had some bad spells, but he thought she was doing much better. She had taken back the role of being the main cook in the family ever since he had gotten busy with the shop, but he still enjoyed helping her when he could. Cooking now seemed to be a good idea, as it usually helped him feel calmer, and he needed all the calm he could get.

"Do you want me to do something, Mum?" he asked,

"Yes, dear, can you do the gravy?"

"Sure," he replied, and went to work by her side.

They worked side by side in silence for a while, Ron having to constantly push his hair back and behind his ears. It happened so constantly, that his mum commented on it.

"If it bothers you so much, maybe you should cut your hair," she said in a tone that was very reminiscent of her old self.

Ron, much like he would have done before, rolled his eyes. "I can't do it just now, can I? I might have to do it tomorrow though, this is really annoying."

They kept on working in silence for a few minutes, Ron highly annoyed by his hair, until she broke the silence again.

"Hermione told me how her parents are still in Australia; she said they had to stay to teach a class."

"Yeah," he replied noncommittally, not knowing what his mum really wanted to know.

"She looks lovely with her hair short like that," his mum continued.

Ron looked at her before answering, trying to figure out her intentions. "Yeah," he finally said, going back to the gravy and hoping the tone of his voice didn't betray him. Yet again, he tried to pull his hair back behind his ears.

"All right, that's enough. I can help you get your hair cut tomorrow, if you want. For now, maybe I can pin your hair back with one of my hair clips..."

He saw her hand moving around in her pocket and come out with a few pins. Pinning his hair back was much, much worse than trying the ponytail.

"No, no, don't worry," he said, lifting one hand to stop her and taking the hair tie from his pocket with the other. "I'm covered."

"Let me help you, then. Sit in this chair, so that I can reach your hair. Merlin, you're so tall!"

Ron did as instructed. He closed his eyes and let her tie his hair.

"Is that a ponytail?!"

Ron cringed as he recognized the amusement in Harry's voice. He kept his eyes closed and felt his ears burn.

"You do know only Bill can pull off a pony tail, don't you? Maybe Charlie, too, but you?" Ginny teased him.

"Sod off," he replied grumpily, "I just didn't want hair on my face!"

"Why don't you all let him be. His hair was falling on his face while he was helping me cook and that is very vexing, which the two of you might know if you had ever helped with the cooking," Ron's mum said, defending him, and he was half ashamed and half amused by it. She indicated she had finished with a pat on his shoulder. "Besides," she continued, "he looks more like Bill every day."

Now he was fully embarrassed, and got up to check on the gravy in order to avoid the comments, hoping they would let him be. As he turned to the counter, he realised Hermione was in the kitchen, as well, and she smiled up to him.

"Are you _cooking_?" Hermione asked, incredulous.

"Oh, yeah, he's quite the chef, now," Harry stated as Ron tasted the gravy. He approved of the state of it and poured it into a bowl.

"It's nothing," he said, still embarrassed, setting the bowl on the table. His mum also came to the table next to him, setting a deep dish full of roast on it. She then lifted her hand to his face, which she briefly cupped.

"Ron has been great here at home. He cooked almost all of our meals in the beginning, when I didn't have the energy to do so. He's become a really good cook, I do think," she finished.

"Enough, Mum, please," he asked. "I'm not as good as you are, by far!"

"You're better than I was when I had just started cooking," she said. Then she turned to Harry, asking him to call everybody for dinner.

Ron went back to the counter, to help his mum move the vegetables from the pot into a serving dish. Hermione came and stood right next to them, distracting Ron with her closeness and her serious face.

"I am really sorry I wasn't here to help you, Mrs. Weasley. Help you and everybody else, too, through everything," she told his mum with a soft voice, regret evident in each word.

"Do not worry in the least, dear," she said without looking, as both Ron and her were busy with the heavy pots. "You were thinking of your parents, which is your responsibility as their child. I had Arthur and my children to support me; I would not have wanted to rob your parents from you."

The vegetables were finally in the biggest serving dish they owned, and both he and his mum were free from the heavy weight. He saw her turn now and cup Hermione's face, very much in the same way she had done to him not five minutes earlier. "I mean it. It was the right thing to do. We all understand. Or at least, we all should," she said with a smile, briefly looking up to Ron before turning back to the dish, which she levitated to the table.

Ron and Hermione stood where they were standing side by side, in sudden silence as they waited for the people that had come into the kitchen to settle into their places. His hands now empty, nothing to do but wait, he was free to put all of his attention on her. He quickly became incredibly aware of her, like a buzzing in the air, so loud that it didn't let him think of anything to say.

Hermione wasn't quite as affected, though, for she was able to turn to him, a warm hand on his arm, and whisper, "I am still sorry I wasn't here. I had to go, but I hated that it meant I had to be so far away when I should have been helping here, as well. I just want you to know that." Then she quickly turned and went to sit in one of the two only places left.

It may not have been a declaration of love, but it still helped the hope take reign in his heart.

* * *

 

Dinner was quickly ending. Hermione had eaten a lot more food than she had of late, the flavours reminding her of much happier summer experiences in the Burrow, so familiar and comforting. Still, despite her trying to focus on everything that was happening around her —the conversation, a bit of bickering here and there; some discussion about the grand opening the following day; George, and his now serious face, sad eyes— there was a thought that kept intruding onto everything else.

Ron.

After so long wishing against every rational bit of herself to have him close, it was like she couldn't get enough of his tall, lanky frame. Her eyes kept darting to him, sitting on the opposite side of the table. She listened to people admiring the job Ron had done with the shop, and how he tried to make George a part of it, insisting he would not have known what to do if not for his brother's extensive experience. She was struck by his sweetness, and knew he would hate to know she thought of him that way. Yet, simultaneously, she kept thinking of her failure at communicating to him how she had felt while gone, as well. Telling him that she was sorry she hadn't been here to support them all had been a failed attempt; she had been trying to tell him she had been sorry to not be here for _him_. It wasn't that she had lied, because she _did_ regret not having been able to support everyone else, too. She simply knew she had to tell him that he was special to her, or they would never move out of this limbo that she knew was already growing between them.

The problem was that it was _so_ much harder to tell him those kind of things in person. It had been difficult enough for her to open up and be more direct in her letters; being face to face with him only made it feel so much more impossible. She wondered, frustrated, if it wouldn't be easier to get themselves in a situation where they might die again, so that she could forget all her worries and simply kiss him once more.

And yet-- she _had_ kissed him. He had to know, right? And even if he didn't know for sure, and even if he still doubted how she felt about him, that would change soon. He would be getting her letters, including _the_ letter, in which she had brazenly said she wanted to be with him. Besides, she really wanted him to take the chance, instead of her again risking it all to show him she wanted to be with him. She didn't care that she knew she was simply making excuses, hoping he would make a move for once. Still, she wished he would be the one to take the steps, if only because it made her feel a bit more safe.

Which was a funny thing to say, considering she didn't really have much of a choice. She might make the decision to not say anything just yet, but it was only because she could count on her letters saying everything she would like to say to him anyway. In a way, the choice was taken away from her. She could not stop him from reading her letters, really, and in a way that was a blessing. Because it meant he would know how she felt about him, no loopholes, no possible questions. And that meant the ball was in his court.

"...Muggle letters?"

Hermione lifted her sight, looking directly at Ron, who was asking his dad about getting the very same letters she had been thinking about. A shiver went down her spine at the coincidence and the implications.

"Well, usually the ministry tracks mail sent to wizards through the Muggle system. You see, Muggle mail is sent to people by this clever system, in which they assign a particular combination of names and numbers---" Arthur had began getting excited about explaining the clever Muggle solution to delivering mail without the aid of owls nor magic, but a few groans from the table deterred him. "Well, anyway, if the letters are sent to a wizard or witch's house, as Muggles wouldn't be able to find the address, they would assume the address doesn't exist. More often than not, they will be sent back to the sender if they can be found; otherwise, they will get sent to a _dead letter_ office, so clever!"

"Alright," Ron said, trying to understand. "But _how_ does it reach _us_?"

"Oh, it's very simple," his dad continued. "There is a department in the Ministry that keeps track of mail that has no real Muggle address. If the recipient is a member of the wizarding community, the letter is taken from the dead letter office, and sent to their recipient by common wizard mail-- owls, of course."

"And how long does that take?"

"A few days, usually, from the time the letter reaches the dead letter office, and until it is forwarded to the witch or wizard. It's not the only task they perform at that department, so sometimes they do take a little long, but it would never be more than a week, I don't think."

Ron turned to Hermione, eagerness in his eyes. "Do you remember when you sent your first letter?"

"Uhm... About a week after I left?"

"So it should have arrived, already!" Ron complained, turning back to his dad. "What do you think happened?"

"I don't know," the older man replied. "I can check it out in the Ministry tomorrow, if you like."

"Thanks, Dad," Ron said this time. Hermione was still looking at him, and knew he was still thinking about the issue. He had that cute expression, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes looking down. "Hermione," he turned his attention to her again, this time with slight anxiousness. "Did you add a return address?"

Hermione felt herself pale. "Only to some of them. I put my current address in the letter itself, and not the envelope, in some of them. But once I moved with my parents, I put the returning address on the envelope."

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered. "They are just letters! How difficult can it be to get them?!"

Hermione only could gulp. There was a chance that some of her letters were on their way back to Australia... including the letter that held part of her future in its ink.

* * *

 

Dinner cleared, they had all moved to the sitting room, except for George who had excused himself and gone up to sleep. Hermione got worried for him, but after whispering a question to Ron, he had replied back, "oh, yeah, he's still feeling down. But he's doing better. This is the longest he has stayed with all of us so far. He gets tired easily, is all."

Ron had gone back to a discussion with Harry almost immediately, not noticing how that simple comment had highlighted, yet again, how much Hermione had missed while gone. She hated that being away not only meant that Ron and she were now in uncertain territory, at least until he finally got her letters, read them, and decided what to do about them. It all meant that she hadn't been there to help them all, as well, and that she had missed all the little changes, all the small decisions everyone had made as their life went on without her presence. She had taken each and every one in this family with her, and they had stayed in her heart while she was thousands of kilometers away. The problem was the people that inhabited her heart had not changed alongside their real versions, and somehow Hermione now felt a disconnect. She felt almost like an outsider, even if everyone had seemed happy to see her again.

"Well, Hermione, dear. Tell me, what are your plans for the summer?"

Hermione tried to push the somber thoughts away, hoping that they would go away on their own sooner rather than later. She decided to try to focus on something else, and the conversation seemed as good an option as anything.

"I don't really know, Mrs. Weasley. I haven't had the time to think much about it."

"Have you given any thought to returning to Hogwarts?"

"Hogwarts?" Hermione repeated, confused.

"Oh, dear, you haven't told her yet?" She asked to Ginny and the boys, frowning. Hermione was looking at everyone, hoping someone would explain things to her. Yet her interest was divided; she knew she was about to learn important information, but her attention was pulled away by knowing Ron was intently looking at her. It felt like the softest tickle on her skin, like a bit of her got slightly electrified under his scrutiny, effectively distracting her from the conversation.

"We haven't had the opportunity, yet," Ginny explained to her mum. Then she turned to Hermione. "You'll be happy to know we can return to Hogwarts in September."

"Really?" Hermione asked, not knowing how to react to the news. She looked down for a moment, trying to decide how she felt about it, still distracted as Ron was still looking at her. Finally, she realised there was something else she needed to know before she could react to it at all. "Are all three of you returning to school?" She asked the trio sitting close to her.

"I am," Ginny replied. "We can share a room this time, as we would both be doing our seventh year," she smiled invitingly. "I'm counting on that, honestly, but no pressure!" she laughed.

Hermione smiled, and then turned to Harry and Ron, mutely inviting them to answer, even if she could infer they weren't just from Ginny's answer. She wanted to hear it from them before she let herself be worried and disappointed.

Going to Hogwarts without Harry and Ron? That didn't sound right!

"I'm not" Harry said, confirming Hermione's suspicions. "I'm joining the Aurors. We start with a few theoretical classes on Monday, and training the following week. In one and a half months, we should graduate and join the force." He shrugged. "They're fast-tracking a small amount of people; they need Aurors on the streets."

"The Aurors?" Hermione asked, a ball of fear taking hold of her stomach with the speed of lightening. "That sounds dangerous!"

"And it has also been one of my dreams since I heard about them for the first time," Harry argued, slightly defensively. "I want to finish the job."

Hermione didn't like the idea at all, and even if she knew it wasn't her choice, she was already worrying about Harry's future.

"Kingsley came and asked us to join the Aurors himself," Ron started, and Hermione turned to him, feeling herself pale once more. "We think it's not only a good opportunity for us, but we are also doing something good for the wizarding community. I—"

"You are joining, too?" she asked again, the fear in her stomach weighing her down like a ton was pulling her by ropes. She felt her heart skip a beat, and then resume at twice the normal speed. "But I thought... The shop..."

"I will be heading Wheezes for a couple of months, then hopefully join the last fast-tracking training group..." Ron hesitated and peered down to her, noticing something was wrong with her. "Hey, are you alright?"

"Yes, yes," Hermione said, knowing she needed to calm down. She didn't quite feel like she was going to have an attack at the moment, but experience told her that could change at any time. She looked around, and was thankful to realise everyone else in the family was busy talking together. She took two calming, rattling breaths and turned to the trio again. "It's just... a lot to take in at once. To think of you and Harry putting yourselves in danger again..."

"We might be in danger anyway, you know that, right?" Harry countered. "There are plenty of Dark Wizards still out there. Many of them are vengeful bastards, and they are not happy to have to be in hiding. And they kind of know it's our fault they have to," Harry finished.

"I know it in my head, but I... I just" Hermione took a moment to try to figure out why it bothered her so much to learn this news. She had always known it, whether in school or in the middle of the war. Still, at the moment, it didn't make sense to her. All she was able to notice was the way her chest felt constricted, like she was pressed against a wall and couldn't breathe properly because of the pressure. She was quickly losing the fight against her own body and mind. "I need some tea," she declared, and quickly stood up and went to the kitchen.

She dearly needed some space to clear her head, to regain her composure. She put her hands on one of the counters opposite to the sitting room, locking her arms to support her body. She closed her eyes and tried breathing deeply and calmly again, mostly failing. She hung her head low, her short hair still long enough to fall forward like a curtain, her mind heavy with the dark thoughts that were hovering on the verge of her awareness.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and the tall presence of Ron right beside her, familiar to her despite everything. She opened her eyes and saw his shoes directly in her line of vision. Like magic, his touch had helped to ground her back to a manageable level of panic and, even if she still felt lightheaded and worried that she might end up having an attack, she felt slightly better.

"Hey, are you sure you're fine?" His hand left her shoulder and reached for her hair, pulling it back behind her ear. He bent down to peer at her, his fingers trailing from behind her ear to her nape. His thumb moved to the side of her neck, resting right on top of her pulsing artery, the warmth of his hand radiating through to her. "Can I do anything for you?" His voice was close and it caused the tiniest of vibrations on her skin. A shiver went down her spine.

Too much, she was feeling too much, and she feared she would lose the thin thread of control she had on her treacherous emotions. Now she couldn’t discern if her heart was racing for fear or for Ron alone.

She straightened up and turned to look at him. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Harry and Ginny were there in the kitchen as well.

All she wanted to say formed a lump in her throat, and it all turned into tears as she looked up at Ron and saw the worry in his eyes. "Yes," she managed, blinking fast to make them disappear. "I just need to go."

"What? No, you should stay here! Don't leave like this," Ron said, evidently worried. "Ginny will happily share her room with you again, right?" He asked Ginny, who nodded.

"Of course. Don't go back to your house, you'll be all alone," Ginny added, and elbowed Harry in a not-so-subtly way.

"I'm sorry if what I said upset you," he said immediately, causing Hermione to laugh a little. It was obvious that Ginny had instructed him to do so.

"Don't worry about any of it. I just need to deal with it on my own," she argued, feeling a bit better but still needing time by herself.

"What? But why?" Ron began asking, but Hermione interrupted him with a look.

"Just-- just leave it, okay? I need some space."

"Then I'll go with you. I'll sleep on the couch."

"Please, I just need some time for myself, and I'll be fine." She turned and went for the door. She opened it and turned slightly to say, “I’ll see you soon," and left.

"I'll go see you in the morning!" She heard Ron announce, and a smile crept to her face despite the conflicting emotions pressing against her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys see that hpshipweeks are back on Tumblr? Romione week is in September (couldn't find the exact week on my blog because I suck at tagging) and I have a few ideas of things I want to do. It's going to be so much fun! The amount of RHr feels I had last year during hpshipweeks was insane! and amazing! And aaaaaaaaaah
> 
> Thanks to my lovely reviewers, as usual, because your words and messages make me smile and make me want to make you happy and make me want to write. Thanks to the amaaaaaazing jenahid for taking the time to beta my multiple chapters this week despite her busy life, to otterandterrier for helping me figure out Important Things such as "do wizards have fridges?", and to the husband honouraryweasley12 for helping me bounce ideas that get my feelings going and make me write 25k words in a week <3


	13. Parallel Worlds

Ron had to use a lot of mental energy to keep thoughts of Hermione at bay the following morning. He was worried about her, and wanted to be close to her for all sorts of reasons, yet he couldn't afford to be distracted at the moment. He was preparing the shop's big opening, after all.

Still, he was dying to go check on her. He had told her he wanted to drop in at her place in the morning, so she might be expecting him. Frustratingly enough, though, he was too busy to take a break during the morning, and couldn't really stop what he was doing until around 1:00pm.

He left Harry and Ginny in charge, and told George that he would go home with him. George had grudgingly gone with Ron to the store, and only under the promise they would let him return to the Burrow before they opened the doors; he didn't want to be surrounded by that many people. Ron knew he probably didn't have to worry so much, at least not to the point of having to make sure George made it back to the Burrow in one piece. George was doing better even if he was not fully himself yet; still, Ron couldn't shake the concern that troubled him in regard to his older brother. Not when every time Ron looked at George, Ron tried to detect any signs that he was still planning on carrying out that horrid plan he once had. So Ron would take him home, despite his protestations that he didn't need a babysitter, and stop at Hermione's house on the way back to the shop.

If he had ran to his room and changed his shirt, and had stopped in the bathroom to comb his freshly-cut hair again —he had enlisted his mum's help first thing in the morning— it was only with the idea of being civil and mannered toward Hermione.

Who was he kidding; he was hoping to look decent for her.

He cleared his throat, Apparated close to Hermione's house, and walked to her door. He lifted his hand, nervous as if this was a date and there was a risk that her dad would open the door. Exasperated, he forced himself to knock on the door and was shocked when it opened immediately.

"Hey, you cut your hair!" She exclaimed, and he unsuccessfully tried to gauge whether she liked it better or not. "I got an alarm when you crossed the wards," Hermione said, motioning him inside with her free hand.

"You were always good at that sort of thing," Ron commented as he stepped in, awkwardly waiting on the side as she closed the door. He then followed her to the kitchen, where he noticed she had been reading a book and drinking some coffee.

"Thanks. I like to think that that's why the house wasn't broken into while it was empty." She sat on the chair he assumed she had been occupying earlier. He leaned against the counter, about an arm's distance from her.

"I did think about it when we got here yesterday," he said, following the natural conversation between them, trying to figure out how to direct it to what had brought him here in the first place. He didn't want to avoid the main reason he had come to see her.

"Yeah, me too. I was worried they would have come trying to find my parents and left a mess, if nothing worse, when they didn't find them. I was almost afraid to open the door when I came back, just thinking I could find my home desecrated, you know?"

"Then you should have let me know you were coming. I would have been there for you, gladly," he said to her with conviction, hoping to convey that he wanted her to rely on him, that she could count on him.

She looked up at him at his words, her eyes big and brown, a shadow of something Ron couldn't read in them. He crossed his arms and forced himself to hold her eyes, despite how distracted it made him to want to understand what was clouding them; despite how much he wanted to get drunk on the intensity of her sight. "Y'know," he continued, making himself follow through, "like I was there when you had to leave this place behind, too."

Hermione gave up whatever internal battle she had been fighting, and looked down at her forgotten book. Ron, who was concerned and a bit expectant to learn why she had left like that the night before, kneeled next to her to read her face better now that she wasn't looking at him.

She didn't move. He lifted his hand and placed it on the back of her neck again, much in the same way he had done the previous night. He moved his thumb in what he hoped what a comforting way, and told himself there was no way Hermione could hear the way his heart was loudly beating. It was the only way Ron could keep on doing what he was doing. He didn't know if his touch was welcomed, but this was the second time he had tried it, and so far so good... but he wouldn't forget that he was trying to offer her support, and that that had to remain his goal at the moment.

"What happened last night?" He finally asked after a few minutes of silence.

Hermione let a big, heavy sigh escape from her, making her back curve and collapse with the release of it. Ron's hand fell to her lower back and he left it there, unknowingly, as Hermione's evident distress took all of his attention. He stayed in silence, giving her time to put her thoughts in order before she spoke. He knew she would, sooner or later.

"I have been having some... issues, I guess you could say," she finally started to explain. She shrugged, and turned her head to look at him. It worried him to see how tired she suddenly looked. "It makes me feel helpless, and last night I was afraid I was going to make a fool of myself because of it. That's why I had to leave."

"What do you mean, issues? What kind of issues?" Ron asked, wanting to understand what was happening to her, immediately trying to figure out ways to help her in any way he could. He didn't like what his imagination was construing from her words.

She hesitated for a moment, but seemed to decide not to answer him directly. "Shouldn't you be at the store right now, getting ready for the opening?"

Ron jumped a bit and checked his watch, having completely forgotten for a moment all about the shop, and slightly annoyed and concerned at Hermione's avoidance. "Dammit," he exclaimed when he saw that he should be back at the store by now. He looked at Hermione again, and the way she smiled at him despite the sadness in her eyes. "Fuck it. They can wait five more minutes. Just tell me what's wrong and how I can help you," he insisted.

"Ron... this is important to you. You should be there getting ready. We will have the time to talk. I don't want to give you a rushed impression and worry you needlessly."

"You do know that _that_ worries me even more, don't you?" he exclaimed, barely keeping his anger in check.

She knew him too well, though. She caught on his tone pretty quickly, and straightened up ready to defend herself.

"Then maybe just believe me when I say I'm all right. You wouldn't worry _then_ , if you trusted me when I say it's fine" she said, a slight scoff escaping her lips.

Ron squinted at her, trying to determine how far he could push her. He decided to persist, but this time by showing her he genuinely cared. He pushed his annoyance aside, and concentrated on his concern instead. "Bloody hell, Hermione, I'm just trying to be a good--friend, here," he finally said, barely managing to say _friend_ when he had wanted to say something else. "Please don't make it this hard."

Her expression immediately softened, and he thought he saw a thread of guilt in her features now. It didn't make him happy to know he had caused that, but he knew he didn't have the time to fix it quite at the moment.

"I promise I won't. I'm sorry." She looked at him for a moment, before biting her lip and reaching to him, running her fingers through his hair once. "It was a shock to see you with your hair so long the other day. I… I like this better."

Ron stood up and reached for Hermione's hand, feeling his ears burn but deciding to enjoy the comment. He pulled at her until she relented and followed his lead, taking her into his arms. He took a deep breath to calm himself, to be patient with her, and was momentarily distracted by the realisation that he could easily catch a whiff of her hair.

The hug continued for a moment, comforting Ron that Hermione was doing better today. He hugged her closer, inhaling deeply again, and hoping he wasn't playing the best friend card too much. His hug was meant to show her that he truly was there for her, to give him the opportunity to feel her close, and to be a trigger for intimacy. They had sometimes hugged, once upon a time, when they were alone and in need of each other's company. A few times they had been surrounded by others, too. But it always had been about relying on each other. He had thought she might not reject him, even if they only meant friendship to her. To him they meant much more, though, and he wondered how he could make sure that their meaning was clear. He wanted his hints to be subtle, not misleading.

He pulled back and stared into her eyes, checking to see if the cloud he had noticed earlier was still there. It wasn't. She was looking up at him openly, a slight spark shining on them now... and thoughts of kissing her filled his mind and pushed everything else to the side.

He looked at her lips, pink and inviting. He looked at her eyes again, and felt the pull deep in his belly, his cells organizing themselves into the kiss he wanted from her. He gulped, trying to decide if he could take the risk... Maybe just tipping his head down, enough to see if she would lift her face up, aligning her lips to his as an invitation...

But he didn't. With a big effort, he took a step back, his hands on her shoulders to keep himself at a safe distance. He didn't think they were there yet. He had to convince her it was a good idea to let herself be with him, before he risked it all with a kiss that might not be enough on its own. He needed to offer her more.

"Come later to the store?" He said, hating his suddenly breathy voice. It was just the effect she had on him, after all. "We'll have some food for family and friends. You can come through the front door or the back door if you prefer; just use _Fidusque_ on it, it's enchanted."

"I'll be there," she softly said.

"Alright if I Disapparate directly from your kitchen?"

She nodded her approval, and he turned on the spot, going away from her before he started to rethink his whole plan and gave in and stole a kiss from her. He Apparated to the flat above the shop, and took a moment to tell himself it had been the right decision. Better to wait and open up the option of a thousand kisses and more, than get a single one that stole them all away from him.

* * *

 

The following day, a bright Saturday morning, Hermione entered the Wizard neighborhood of Diagon Alley with a happy step. The opening of the store had been a great success the night before. They had been so busy that they had asked Hermione to help with the customers as soon as she had stepped into the store. They had all worked hard, and by the time the final customer had been led outside and the doors had finally been closed, they had barely had the energy to finish their meals before going home to sleep.

Everyone had left, but Ron had stayed behind to say bye to Hermione, seeing as she was the only one not going to the Burrow for the night. He had hugged her again, just like earlier that day, and had said he hoped to see her soon.

Well, he was going to see her first thing in the morning, then.

He had mentioned that he would go to the shop early that day, in order to update the books to know exactly how well they had done the night before and request any products that may be getting low in the inventory. As she had lain in her bed trying to fall asleep, she had thought about the day, about her plans for the summer, and about Ron... until she had fallen asleep thinking of him and what she wanted to do about everything.

Hermione inhaled the fresh morning air as she walked on the streets lined with wizard shops, and changed the bag she carried from one hand to the other. She already knew she wanted to go back to Hogwarts, but somehow didn't feel like she could finalize that plan for two reasons. One, to think of going back to school without Harry and Ron felt wrong, somehow. Knowing Ginny would be there made it better, but still. Two, she didn't feel like she could actually make any decisions about her summer and about her future until she knew where she stood with Ron, because if they became a couple, then some things might change. She didn't know what could change, exactly, but until she knew whether Ron was interested in being with her or not, she didn't think she could make all the decisions she needed to make. Now, if she only knew for sure...

Just like the previous night, she was torn between interpreting Ron's hugs as more than friendship, wishing he had made more of a clear move, and hoping he would get her letters soon. In a deep corner of her mind, she knew she was just using the letters as an excuse to not take the risk. And, just like the previous night, she told herself it didn't matter if she physically took the risk, because her letters would say everything she needed to say, anyway.

Only... what if her letters got lost? What if her letters were on the way back to Australia? So, as she pondered those questions while still in bed that morning, she had reached a compromise with herself. The letters might hold her words, but it didn't mean she could not show him with her actions that she wanted to be with him.

Granted, that had been kind of her plan ever since she had decided to hope to start something more with one of her best friends. She had always kind of relied on _showing_ him that she wanted him that way, and it had never worked. She hadn't even _talked_ to him when she had kissed him in the Room of Requirement; and hadn't really said anything when he had tried to talk to her after the war had ended. The closest she had ever come to telling him anything was when she had asked him to go with her to Slughorn's party in sixth year, and look where it had gotten her. It was like any time that she tried to talk to him about her feelings for him she ended up suffocating in her nervousness, until there was no air in her lungs to fuel her voice. She knew it was because in telling him she was risking a no, and she didn't think she could handle that without crying her heart out right in front of him.

And yet, she had kissed him. Action. With no time to think, she had been able to _act_. So maybe she could find the same impulse in her at some point, so that she could take their relationship where she wanted. Which didn't mean she was not currently hoping with all her being that he would be the one to bloody _do_ something.

She laughed to herself when she thought of how Ron would react to her mental cursing, which somehow took her mind to that private time they had shared in her kitchen the day before. In all honesty, that had been the result of thinking of Ron in any way, for the entirety of the past twenty-four hours. For a crazy moment, she had thought that Ron was going to kiss her as he hugged her, and as he pulled away to look at her. She was almost sure he had looked at her lips, lingering for a moment, making her knees weak. It hadn't happened, obviously; he had taken a step back and kept her at a distance. But there had been a hint of it in that moment, enough to make her hope. Enough to make her smile as she opened the back door to the store in search for Ron and an opportunity to show him she cared.

"Ron?" she called, but nobody answered.

She walked through the warehouse and into the showing room, its shelves and showcasing stands still half-empty. She saw the light coming from the office, and knew he was there.

The door was slightly open, enough for her to see him sitting on his desk. The light of the lamp was directed to the many papers on it, some of which he held for a minute before scribbling a note on the thick filing book opened in front of him. She took a moment to admire how concentrated he looked, so different from his distracted studying in Hogwarts. She had always known he had it in him, this dedication, and she also had known he would eventually find it. It made her so proud to know he had done this, helping to open the shop again. If she didn't know anything else, this alone would show her that he was growing to be the man she had always hoped he would become. And just to think she might be able to share that with him if they ever got their act together and finally started a relationship...

"Ron?" She tried, in hopes to get his attention. It was a sign of how much he was concentrating that he jumped in his seat, one of his hands instinctively reaching for his wand. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!" she quickly said, trying to appease him before he cursed her.

"Hermione?" His face quickly changed into a smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Why, you want me to leave?" She asked in her best attempt at flirtation, though it really was just her being worried that she had made a mistake.

"No, no, of course not! Come in," he said, half standing in his place until she was in the office. "What brings you here, though?"

"This," she replied, putting the bag she had been carrying on his desk, careful not to mess up his papers. "I thought you might be hungry, so I made you breakfast. Second breakfast, surely, as I'm sure you ate something before coming here."

"I could eat, yeah," he said, still smiling, and reaching for the bag. He opened it and took out a thermos, which held his attention for a moment, as he appeared to be intrigued. "What is this?"

"Tea, with sugar and cream, like you used to have it."

"And what is it _in_? What is this?"

"Oh, it's called a thermos. I suppose you have never seen one. It's the Muggle solution for liquids going cold; it keeps them warm."

"Wicked," he said, and put it on the side. He reached inside the bag again, and took out the sandwich she had prepared for him.

"I hope you like it," she said, slightly nervous for some reason.

"Are you kidding? It looks delicious," he said and unwrapped it. “Brilliant," he exclaimed again, and offered one half of it to Hermione. "Want some?"

"Sure," she replied and reached for the bread.

They ate companionably for a few minutes, then he left his half eaten sandwich on the paper it had come in and reached for the thermos. He poured the tea on the cup that functioned as a cover to the seal on top of the flask, drank some of it, and then offered it to Hermione.

"Do you want to share?" he said, and she couldn't help but to think that sharing the cup was intimate, in a way.

"Would love to," she said, and reached for the cup. The strange intimacy of the gesture, which she didn't even know was real or just her own interpretation, was amplified by the way their fingers touched for a moment. She didn't know if it meant anything, and looked up to check on him and try to decipher if he had noticed, too. He was looking at her, and she felt herself blush slightly. "What are you up to, then?" she managed to ask, trying to change the subject, and saw him jump a bit.

"What do you mean?"

"Here," she tried to clarify.

"Uhm... like..."

"With the books," she insisted, slightly confused that it wasn't totally clear. "You said last night that you had to come in early to work on the books, but I don't know exactly what is it you needed to do."

"Oh," he said, apparently relieved. "The books keep track of all sold items. Every time a sale is made by a cashier, an entry appears in this book, and adds a total per day. Since the books have not been used in about a year, I wanted to check the spell is still working properly. So I'm checking that all sales are annotated in the book."

"Hi, guys! I didn't know you would be here, Hermione!" Harry's voice interrupted them, and he and Ginny entered the office, which felt slightly crowded now with the four of them in it.

"And I didn't know you two would be coming, either," she replied, smiling to hide her slight disappointment that her time alone with Ron had ended.

"Yeah, we are going to help replenish the store for the day," Harry explained. "Hopefully the sales are going to stabilize after the weekend, because I don't think I'll be able to help much once I start with Auror training."

Hermione looked at them all, admiring how much work they had all put into Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. "What is the plan then, after tomorrow? Is Verity coming back?"

"No," Ginny said, "we tried to contact her but it seems she's not planning to come back to England just yet. Her mother is Muggleborn so they all left to escape the war, and they seem to be comfortable in France for the time being. I'll be helping out until I go back to Hogwarts, but we want to hire someone else as well."

"Oh, I can definitely help, if you want," she said to all three of them, excited at the idea forming in her mind. "I don't really have any other plans at the moment, and this would certainly give me something to do until I decide on anything," she explained, without adding her next thought, _and it also gives me the opportunity to grow closer to everyone again, especially Ron_.

"That sounds great!" Ginny said and, turning to Ron, she added, "doesn't it? Then it all stays in the family for a little while longer."

“I'll be happy to do it! Why don't you finish with checking the book, while I help Ginny and Harry to restock the place?" She suggested, a big smile on her face and warmth filling her heart as Ginny calling her _family_ lingered in her mind.

"If you're sure, Hermione; it would be brilliant if you did," he replied, apparently excited at the idea, too.

“I am sure,” she replied back as she followed Harry and Ginny into the shop.

“Thanks for second breakfast!” She heard Ron say behind her, and she turned slightly to wave at him as she left the office.

* * *

 

Ron put away the book in its place on the shelves, satisfied that the spell was still working, and feeling utterly ecstatic. Not only had they made tons of money the previous night, but everything in regard to Hermione seemed to be going according to the plan that had fixated in his mind. Hermione had welcomed his hugs, and had not rejected the way he had touched her neck when trying to provide comfort. Not only that, but she had evidently come to the store to purposely do something nice for him and spend time with him. And, above everything else, he thought she had blushed when he had tried to subtly touch her hand. He had thought for a moment she was onto him and his plan, when she had asked what he was doing right as he had been observing her for her reaction, but he had worried needlessly. All in all, he thought he could confidently say that Hermione wasn't opposed to being physically close to him.

Maybe he was rushing things, he considered as he organized his desk, but he was excited to move on to a next stage. It seemed to be a good idea to start showing her he was boyfriend material. He wasn't sure how he was going to do that; what was the difference between being a good friend and being someone's boyfriend, anyway? Besides the expectation of... physical activities, to say it in a nice way. He knew that that wasn't _all_ he wanted with Hermione when their relationship finally evolved to everything he hoped for, but there was so much more as well that he could not put into words. So all he was left with was to do his best to show her, to give her reason to believe that he saw every light touch as boyfriend-stuff instead of friend-stuff, and try to add an extra layer of intimacy if at all possible. The fact that Hermione would be helping at the shop would provide plenty of opportunity for that, and he smiled at the very thought of it. Time was all he needed to have her look at him the right way, and then for him to take the risk to kiss her. To kiss her in a way that showed her that he planned on it lasting forever between them, if she would let him. And then tell her that he loved her in as many ways he could find.

Happy at the state of the office and of the world in general, he went out in search of her. He saw her levitating a few boxes into their showcases, and silently walked until he was behind her. Leaning down, he softly spoke to her ear, "so I'm your boss, now..."

She jumped and lifted her shoulders in reaction, but she evidently knew it was him, as she turned to look at him reproachfully. "Ron!" she said, blushing.

He instantly felt bad about having scared her. "I'm sorry, I didn't meant to scare you!" he exclaimed, berating himself for his awkward joke. He was sure his plan to show her he was boyfriend material had taken two steps back.

"What did you mean to do, then?" She asked, her eyebrows still furrowed, her skin still pink.

"I... don't know. Have some fun?" He tried to apologize. "Seeing as you briefly scared me this morning, can we call it even?"

She smirked at him, which quickly turned into a playful smile. "Sure... boss."

And, just like that, a shiver went down his spine and one of Ron's fantasies took a hold of his loins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UST is everything, who's with me?  
> And these two idiots offer plenty  
> Thanks for all your lovely reviews!


	14. Linger

Hermione had been working at the shop for a total of five hours, and Ron had had trouble concentrating on his work for almost as long. He kept thinking back to their little exchange, her calling him ‘boss’ and… compliant, for once? He had _liked it_ —and it was distracting to no end.

He knew it would become a problem if he didn't figure out a way to concentrate on his tasks. He had to, for the sake of the business. But it was hard to be responsible when the alternative was so much better!

No, he didn’t want to be responsible and focus on numbers and quotas. He wanted to soak his mind with Hermione, to get her under his skin, to make himself pine for her until he went crazy. Feeling like that made him forget there was a chance they would never be together, if only because it was a reminder that she was back, and they were close once again.

Now, he only had to figure out a way to show her the intimacy he had been thinking of, adding whatever looked like boyfriend behaviour. Get closer to her than just being in the same room, in other words. Having Hermione in the same country as him, check. Having Hermione in the same building as him, check. Getting close enough to rekindle what they had had before she went away… well, that was definitely still on his to do list, first place, top priority.

_All right_ , he thought, _if thinking about her won't let me work, then maybe if I look at her a bit I'll have enough of her to keep me sane until I take a lunch break…_

He dropped the quill he had been trying to use to write down tasks and lists, and got up from his desk to take a look around the shop, not even bothering to lie to himself and pretending like he had a reason other than finding Hermione and looking at her.

He was almost out of the office when he thought better of it. He _should_ have a reason, just in case. He didn't want Hermione to think he was skiving off his work. She wouldn't like that. So he went back to his desk and grabbed the parchment and quill again, walking to the storeroom, casually looking over to the counter where Hermione would be working for the rest of the day.

When she looked up and locked eyes with him, a little smile appearing on her face, Ron felt like he had gotten a punch on the stomach and the air had been taken out of his lungs… and he liked that, too.

He smiled back, unknowingly walking a bit slower toward the storeroom, unaware that he was trying to make the moment last. He didn't break the connection with her eyes until he couldn't see her anymore, immediately missing the feeling of her eyes on his, the experience of being in a tunnel-like force field, where nothing else existed but the two of them, looking at each other.

He got into the storeroom, sitting on a sealed box next to the door, looking around and slowly coming down from the clouds. He felt silly just sitting there, waiting for some time to pass,  to make it look like he was busy in there instead of just using the storeroom as an excuse to casually walk across the shop. He was being ridiculous and he knew it, but he couldn’t help himself.

Not two minutes had passed when Harry came into the room, causing Ron to jump a bit having been caught sitting on a box, doing nothing.

"Oh, hi, mate," Ron said, his ears burning upon noticing Harry's smirk.

"Busy, are you?" he said, coming in to get a few products to replace on the shelves. Ron quickly went to help him, to have something to do. He took four of the boxes Harry was holding, while Harry himself took another bunch.

"Shut up," Ron replied. "I was just thinking about something."

"Sure. Nothing to do with that look you just gave Hermione, I'm sure."

Ron was dumbfounded that anyone had noticed, especially Harry, who generally missed those things. Knowing that Harry was practically blind to Ron's pining looks and feelings for their best friend had always been a source of comfort to him, when he had caught himself staring at Hermione for a tad too long in the Gryffindor common room, or in the library, or in class.

But Harry had noticed now, making Ron purse his lips and look away to hide his embarrassment.

"You're not denying it," Harry said, the smirk still in place.

"Why in the hell would I? You know how I feel," Ron exclaimed, his voice low, still looking away. Harry was his best friend, but it still made him feel vulnerable that Harry was aware of  the extent of his feelings for Hermione, if only because it was a reminder of  how much of a coward he was being for not doing anything more about it than gawking at her.

"So, uhm," Harry began, clearing his throat. "Er, so are you going to do something about it, or…"

Of course Harry would say the exact thing that was both correct and the source of his shame at the moment .

"I'm deciding how to do it, all right?" Ron complained, looking at his friend again. "Bloody hell, it's not as easy as you think."

"Why, though," Harry asked, apparently in true bafflement. He haphazardly accommodated two of the boxes he was holding on the shelf again, freeing a hand to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and run his fingers through his messy black hair. "I thought—I mean, isn't this what you wanted? Hermione's back from Australia and—well, you know. She… kissed you, and all…"

Ron scoffed, looking away again as Harry reached for the two boxes again. "Yeah, but then she left and who knows…" he shrugged. "What if she changed her mind? What if that was, you know… not serious, or…"

Ron looked at Harry again, both of them holding several boxes in their arms, standing still in the storeroom, staring awkwardly to each other.

"You could… I don't know, this is crazy, I know… but you could—ask her?" Harry said, pursing his lips to hide a smile.

"That's barmy, all right. What if she says no?" Ron looked at the ceiling, then to the products in his arms. "Just because it was easy for you to hook up with my sister again right after the war, doesn't mean it's the same for Hermione and me."

"What's so different?" Harry began, but Ron interrupted him.

"You had a relationship with Gin," Ron hissed. "You went out with her for months. You breaking up with her was for her sake, more a… pause than anything, right? As soon as the danger was gone it was straight back to being together, wasn't it?"

"It wasn't that—not quite—" Harry began again, but Ron interrupted him once more.

"Hermione and I… we never really had that, did we?" Ron argued, his voice still low and exasperated, still half-embarrassed. "We only kissed once, and we weren't even alone, you were there! You interrupted us, you git! Or did you forget about that?"

"Well, it didn't look like you cared that I was there at the time," Harry hissed back. "Or that there was a battle around you or anything!"

"It was the only chance we had, really! And now…"

"Maybe you're overthinking it? She looked back just now, didn't she?"

"Are you really trying to tell me that Hermione looking back is a sign she wants me to make a move?"

Harry rolled his eyes and took a few steps away from Ron, the latter quickly following.

"I don't know why I even tried, to be honest. We never talk like this about the girls and—yeah, you do your thing, I guess," Harry finished. "But _do_ it."

* * *

Ron was still slightly annoyed a little while later, sitting at his desk again and doodling on a piece of parchment. It wasn't so much what Harry had said, or the fact that it was basically the same thing that one side of his brain tried to argue with him all the time. It was that he didn't like knowing that Harry knew he was head over heels with Hermione, and was expecting him to do something about it. It made him feel self-conscious and, well, exposed. Because if Ron tried to do something about his feelings and it didn't work out, then Harry would know his heart was broken and he didn’t want that. If Ron tried something and it didn't work out, he would need to pretend that it didn't bother him as much as it did, in order to keep his relationship with Hermione as intact as possible. If that happened, he would have to try to mend his heart by himself, hidden from the rest.

It was all a big dilemma, really. He had promised himself a long time ago that he would learn to be happy with being Hermione's friend, if she wasn't interested in adding onto that with being his girlfriend. For that, he needed to be able to navigate the current situation strategically, better than any game of chess he ever played--which was quite the statement, considering the life-sized game in first year. He needed to figure out what to do, and how to do it to avoid ruining their friendship, while pursuing her for even more than that. If he tried something and Hermione didn't like it, chances were it was going to affect their friendship. This was a high stakes situation, and he had to be really careful about what he did.

And that's why it wasn't so easy. He didn't think he had really explained why it was so different for him and Hermione from what Harry and Ginny had, and maybe that's why Harry still thought Ron should ask. Like Harry had ever asked such things to girls? As far as he knew, he had just kissed them and checked later, and that was such a different strategy, really. And one Ron wasn't sure he was able to risk with Hermione, unless he was sure she wanted to kiss him back.

His thoughts were interrupted as both Harry and Ginny came to the office.

"We're going out for lunch. Do you want anything?" Ginny asked.

"Sounds good, thanks," Ron agreed. "Bring me whatever, just make it a lot of it."

They laughed. "Sure. Be back in a bit."

* * *

It didn't take Ron long to realise that, with Harry and Ginny gone to get lunch, Hermione would be mostly alone at the moment. Aside from the customers looking around and buying things, Hermione was alone and would be for the next little while. He expected she wouldn't mind his company, so that they could talk, maybe, while she rang in  their customers’ purchases.

Right?

He got up from his desk and walked to the main section of the shop. He checked some of the products, putting them back in their place after being handled by customers. He did that for a while, and then casually lifted his eyes to Hermione.

She was assisting a shopper, and was currently receiving the payment and pushing the keys on the register. Still, she lifted her eyes to him, and their eyes locked for a moment. She smiled, and went back to the customer. He tried to stop the funny feeling in his stomach, lest it distract him from his goal, or made him too nervous to do it.

Ron went back to checking the shelves, moving to another one, this one a bit closer to her. Again he rearranged a few products, and again he checked back to where she was, this time having to turn his body to see her. This time, she was looking at him already. He thought he saw her blush before she looked away and started to fix the little toys and pamphlets around her, all strategically placed  to encourage impulse buying from the shoppers.

Ron turned back to look at the boxes in front of him and smiled. This time, he was fully unable to stop the feeling in his stomach from taking full force.

A young wizard interrupted him, asking about the Puking Pastilles, and Ron indicated the way to them. The boy's face seemed full of glee at the prospect of slipping one into his older brother's drink that night.

He let out a small laugh, amused, and stood where he was to see the boy go find them. Ron again checked on Hermione then, still smiling. She was in the middle of rearranging a few boxes of candy close to her, but she still looked up and met his eyes, a doubtful smile appearing on her face in answer to his own.

That little connection made Ron self conscious, for some reason. He cleared his throat, and crossed the room to check the state of another of the displays, this one a bit further away from her.

_Don't be ridiculous, you git_ , he told himself, quickly turning to check on her again. She had been observing him, but had quickly looked away, distracted by a new customer.

_Just go, just talk to her, just… do it_ , he insisted in his mind, taking a deep breath to steel himself. He let it out with a self-deprecating laugh as he turned to go to the till where Hermione was stationed. Only he would be nervous about _talking_ to her, like it was something different from what they had ever done before. No wonder he didn't have the bollocks to even attempt to kiss her, really.

He forced himself to cross the space in front of him, this time walking to where Hermione was standing and helping a customer, letting himself rest his elbows on the glass counter, next to the cash register she was using and across from her, his head hanging low.

* * *

Hermione couldn't help herself. She had been monitoring the shop all morning, trying to keep track of Ron, where he was, and what he was doing. It was a bit annoying, really, because it made her nervous and it made her feel full of longing for him.

And yet… he had gone to the storeroom at one point, and he had looked at her and she had looked at him. It had made her stop breathing, it had made her world spin a bit, and once that was done and she had come back from the cloud she had been floating on, she had to bite her tongue from cursing herself for being exactly like those silly girls who fawned over teenage musicians. She hated to realise she was no better, really, than she had been with Lockhart when she was in second year.

Although there was no comparison between Lockhart and Ron. Ron was so much better, there were no words…

She sighed. She wasn't only in love with her best friend; she was utterly infatuated and full of longing and need for him. It was like, now that she was back and she was close, she wanted to be even _closer_. As close as possible.

"Stop it," she told herself, huffing as she assisted another customer. _Take it slowly, give him room. Let things happen naturally_.

And still her heart did a double take when he came into the room to check on the shelves and the products.

She did her best to concentrate on the witch in front of her, trying to do her job properly. When she was able to look up at him, she found him already looking at her. She smiled at him, thinking that maybe he would come over and would have a little bit of time to talk. Then she focused on the shopper again, silently wishing they would be done as soon as possible, so that she could concentrate on Ron, instead.

As soon as the customer had left, her eyes sought him out again. He had moved onto another of the showcases, his back to her. She took the opportunity to look at him, long extremities and gorgeous hair. She had always loved how tall he was, even if it meant he always towered over her. She thought it was because there was more of him, and it made her feel like she could be contained in his arms.

The silly thought was followed by Ron turning to look at her, as if he had been able to sense what she had been thinking.  She felt the color rise in her cheeks, and she looked away in embarrassment, suddenly finding the little keychains and dolls next to the register extremely interesting and, oh, were those pamphlets out of place?

As if out of her volition, she quickly checked on him again, to see he had turned back to deal with the products on the shelves. She saw a little boy come to him, asking him something, and how Ron's profile broke into a smile. She again tried to distract herself from him, focusing her attention on the candy boxes stacked neatly close to her. When she lifted her eyes again, he was grinning at her, and after a moment she couldn't hold it back anymore, and smiled back at him.

His lips faltered, for some reason. He crossed the open space in front of her to the other side of the shop, where he busied himself with another of the shelves. She barely had time to wonder what had happened when he turned to look at her again, catching her looking at him, to then have a another customer come pay for something, forcing her to actually take her attention away from him this time.

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes, and yet it felt like a few exchanged glances had been more than a full conversation.

_Hey._

_Hey._

_What are you up to?_

_Not much._

_Just checking what it’s like, to finally be close to each other again._

_I'd like to know how close is close enough._

It didn't matter who had said what; it felt to her like they were both trying to say the same thing, even as they failed to vocalize it. She wondered how she could be so sure Ron wanted to spend time with her, nearly as much as she did, and yet doubt that Ron wanted to do more than that.

When she realised Ron had finally decided to come to her, she was thankful she was busy with a patron, as it gave her a bit of time to compose herself.

She saw him placing his elbows on the counter, his head hanging low.

_That hair_ , she thought, briefly staring at it and want it to run her fingers through it. _No wonder it was in my Amortentia_.

"Hey," he said, lifting his head as soon as the customer had left.

"Hey," Hermione replied. "What are you up to?"

"Not much. Just checking around. Seeing if things are working well here."

"They seem to be," Hermione offered. "It seems there's a constant flow of customers, and lots of them are buying things, which is what matters, at the end."

"Yeah, it's all going rather nicely," he said.

His head bent down to look at the knickknacks displayed on the counter, and Hermione couldn't help but look at his hair again. It almost seemed to her that, after all this time of missing him, she had forgotten quite how much she liked it.

She stealthily looked around to see that nobody was paying attention to them, and lowered her head as subtly as she could, as close as she could to his hair, trying to catch a sniff of it. But he lifted his head again to look at her, and she reprimanded herself for being so daring: this wasn't like when she had allowed herself that guilty pleasure back in Hogwarts, alone in the library, when he slept on his homework—giving her the perfect opportunity to ogle him and count his freckles and sniff his hair.

She blushed, and he briefly squinted his eyes quizzically, obviously not understanding the source of her embarrassment.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, yes. Just… wow, it's a bit hot in here."

"Oh, maybe I'll have to check the cooling charm in the shop…" he commented, suddenly concerned.

"No, no, I'm sure it's fine. Anyway," Hermione said, trying to distract him. "What did that boy want?"

"Oh, yeah," Ron said, chuckling. He absentmindedly reached for one of the boxes of candy close by, opening it. "He was looking for Puking Pastilles. To use on his older brother," he explained, before raising the box above him and tipping his head back, letting all the little candy inside fall into his mouth. He then looked down at her again, chewing and smiling at the same time.

She rolled her eyes, but still had to smile. "I bet you haven't even had lunch, yet," she commented, trying to make herself comfortable by teasing him. But then he reached across the counter, his long torso easily coming to the other side, one of his long arms hanging as it held the crunched up candy box in his hand.

His head was right next to her hip, and she jumped slightly to the side.

"What does it matter? Like a bit of candy is going to ruin my appetite," he answered. "Where's the rubbish bin?"

"Oh," she said, finally understanding what he was doing. She hadn't been unable to figure it out, as her mind had gone completely blank. "Here, I'll throw it away," she offered, and he straightened up once more, giving her the empty package.

"Thanks," he said.

She threw away the candy box, and returned to look at him.

It was him who looked a bit uncomfortable at the moment.

"So, are we overworking you yet?" he joked, finally cracking a half-smile.

"No, this is quite fine, actually." She assured him. "It's a nice Summer job to have, really."

"You can say if you change your mind, though," he insisted. "We're not paying you or anything, right? So I can't really ask you to do something you don't want to."

"Oh, I'm happy volunteering my time. It's not like I have all these other fun things to do. Besides," she added, "I'm sure you'd ask Ginny to do or not do specific things, if it came to it."

"Well, of course! But she's my sister. I can be rude to her and she still has to love me," Ron said, and she saw him open his eyes wide.She didn't have to check to know his ears were red. "I mean, she's family, and she knew what she was getting into."

Hermione didn't want to let herself believe that he had interpreted his own words the same way she had, and that's why he had explained what he meant further. It wasn't like it was a declaration of love, as it could easily be interpreted as him wanting to make sure she didn't think there was love between them… although the alternative was so much better.

"You mean to say you don't have the same kind of familiarity with me? That you wouldn't feel as comfortable telling me what to do, as if you were telling Ginny what to do?" she finally said.

"No, I would… I just don't think of you the same way… that is, I don't think of you as my sister, is all."

Hermione tilted her head to the side, confused yet pleased. "That's good, " she conceded.

"It is," he said once more, but then winced. "Though I'm afraid it doesn't really help you get out of me being rude to you."

Hermione laughed, putting her hands on the counter and locking her arms, so that she could balance her weight forward toward him, coming close to him in a playful manner.

Even through the butterflies in her stomach, even through the wonderment at seeing his shock; even though she noticed when he lowered his eyes to peek at her chest for a moment, making it obvious that she was showing a bit too much and he had noticed; even when she felt herself blush and saw him embarrassed he had been caught… even as all of that happened and all those thoughts crossed her mind, she still managed to follow through with her original intention.

"Tell you a secret?" she told him in a conspiratorial manner, only a slight quiver in her voice at the surge of thoughts and feelings.

He leaned down at her, both eager and curious, even a bit afraid, to hear her secret. He had to have miscalculated the distance, for his ear came a bit too close to her lips, distracting her… especially when she did get a whiff of his hair.

Momentarily distracted, she failed to tell him what she had had in mind. He turned his face to look at her, evidently wondering why she was silent. Now they were really close, face to face, and she could stare into his eyes. They were so blue, and open wide, and she knew hers were just as wide.

"So?" he whispered, his eyes steady where his voice hadn't been. She could feel his words on her skin.

"I've always known you can be extremely rude," she made herself finish, wincing and hating herself for saying the words. It was not the kind of thing she would have liked to say, when so close to him.

He didn't seem to mind, though. He smiled and she could see the retort forming on his lips, not that she was looking at his lips or anything, but then his eyes focused to the side of her and he pulled back, straightening up once more.

She realised he must have seen someone coming to pay reflected on the glass display behind her, and had to raise her eyebrows in appreciation for his ability to know what had been around them at the time. She hadn't been able to think of anything but their closeness. Had he been unaffected by the closeness? And if he had been, what did it all mean?

Then she looked at the boy in front of her, counting Knuts and Sickles in his hand; it was the same boy that had approached Ron before.

"I see you found them," Ron commented.

"Yes, and Damian—that's my brother—he's going to be so sorry he told Mum about me breaking that vase. Like it matters, right?" he questioned, offering the money to Hermione. "Mum can put it back together with a simple spell."

"So how did you break it?" Ron asked, keeping the conversation going.

"Fine, so I was using Damian's toy broom without his permission, and even if Mum had said not to use it inside the house. But it wasn't anything that couldn’t be fixed, was it?" the boy argued, and Ron laughed at that piece of logic. "Just because he's the older one… totally unfair…"

Hermione opened her mouth to reprimand him, but Ron, who obviously knew what she wanted to do, winked and shushed her without the boy noticing.

"Good luck with Damian! Be ready for retaliation," Ron advised, and the boy waved goodbye and left.

"Really, Ron?" Hermione asked, but he laughed and she couldn't help but join in and laugh a bit as well.

"I don't know, he reminded me of my brothers and I a bit."

Hermione smiled, even as she rolled her eyes and shook her head in disapproval.

"Anyway," Ron continued saying, placing a hand on the counter and leaning on it, him being the one to close the distance between them  this time. Before she could decide if it was safe to close the distance even more, Ginny and Harry came through the main door, carrying a few paper bags and one old-looking leather bag.

"Hey, guys! Look what I brought!" she announced.

"What is it?" Ron asked, looking at them and reaching for the leather bag.

"We were getting lunch when we had this idea," Harry explained. "We thought it would be nice if we took a few pictures today of all of us. You know, we realised we don't have many, if any at all, and as we're all here, spending time together again…"

"Basically, we thought it would be a nice excuse to get a picture of the four of us," Ginny added. "So we Apparated home and, well, it took me a while to find it, but I did! Dad's old camera!"

"I remember it now!" Ron said, getting it out of its case. "He said he got it in the late 70s, when the other one he had failed. I haven't seen it in so long! Does it work, though?"

"Mum said it does, so let's see," Ginny said, taking the camera from Ron's hand. "Okay, pose, you two," she commanded to Ron and Hermione.

Hermione jumped a bit, not having expected that, but quickly recovered and went around the counter to stand next to Ron.

"All right, so…" Ginny continued, Harry by her side squinting into the old camera, as she brought her wand up to it and touched it briefly. " _Oppario_. Wasn't that what dad used to say?" she asked Ron.

"It was _Appario_ , I think," he said, and Hermione looked up to find him looking down at her.

She smiled to him, and saw him lean back against the counter. She held her hands in front of her, suddenly very aware he was next to her. But then she felt his hand on her waist, and felt him pull at her to bring her closer.

"For the photo, you know," he said, bringing her to his side.

"Yes, it was _Appario_ , Ron!" Ginny exclaimed, focused on her excitement over the camera. "I can see the two of you through the lense, now."

Hermione looked at Ron again, now so much closer as they stood side by side, her shoulder against his chest. Still looking at her, he gave her a timid smile, and she smiled back, trying to tell him it was okay. To stress the point, she lifted her hand to rest on top of his on her waist, his smile widening.

"Woops!" Harry exclaimed. "The camera made a lot of noise right now, did you hear?"

"Yeah, I don't know…" Ginny replied. "What did you do?"

"I just pulled that lever," Harry said.

"I think that's how you take photos, but… wait. Okay, get comfortable, you guys, this'll take me a minute," she added, directing the words at Ron and Hermione.

Ron looked at Ginny, and then tilted his head to Hermione. She could feel his words on her temple, her skin tingling in response again.

"Should I tell her I know how to use it?" he told her in a soft voice.

Hermione tried to hide a giggle, nervously touching her belly to do something with her free hand.

"No," she replied. "I'm quite—quite comfortable, really," she said, forcing herself to be brave and wrapping her free hand around his waist.

"Me too," he said, pulling her even closer as she grabbed the flesh underneath her hand. She felt his hand moving up and down on her waist, just a few centimetres each time. Her heart began to beat fast.

She prayed that nobody came to interrupt them. And for the moment, nobody did.

"All right, I think I figured it out," Ginny said. "Let's try…" she looked up at the pair of them, and smirked.

"I know I'm not an expert," Harry began, looking at them as well, "but my understanding is that you can move for wizard photos."

"And this is to kind of remember this day in the future; it should look like you're celebrating!" Ginny added.

"Should we humour them?" Hermione asked, loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"Hurry," Ginny complained, "before someone comes."

"If you insist," Ron said and, before Hermione knew what was happening, he had picked her up between his arms and lifted her off her feet, quickly doing a circle with her, her legs flying behind her thanks to the centrifugal force of his silly act.

"Ron, let me go!" she shrieked, and he did let her put her feet on the floor again. Yet they didn't let go of each other, her hands on his shoulders and his on her waist.

They looked at each other for a moment, she suddenly forgetting Harry and Ginny were there, unaware that several faces had turned to see what had caused her scream.

"Sorry," Ron said, clearing his throat and shrugging, still holding her. "But they said to celebrate."

"Uhm, yeah, that was… a perfect celebration," Ginny said, obviously amused.

"Did you get that?" Harry asked. "I’ve never heard Hermione screech like that."

"The sound won't be in the picture, you arse," Hermione said, her rare curse making everyone laugh.

"Fine, I'm butting in, then," Harry said, walking to Ron and Hermione. "Set the camera to take a photo of all of us and come!" he told Ginny, and she did.

Ron and Hermione let go of each other, just as Harry came and put an arm around Ron's back. As Ginny came to them, hugging Harry, Hermione felt Ron's hand come to her waist again. Tiny bell sounds came from the camera to announce the time left before it snapped the picture.

"Is this still okay? I just meant to make you laugh," Ron told her, bending his head to her again.

She looked up at him and smiled to reassure him. "It was a shock, but it was fun."

"Cheers!" Ginny and Harry announced, rocking the group of them from side to side to give them movement as the camera rang the beginning of the picture, laughing.

Hermione reacted in surprise, leaning in to Ron to keep her balance, his arm securing her by holding her close. Again they looked at each other, silly smiles plastered on their faces.

"Look at the camera, you dimwits!" Ginny insisted.

And they did, and they looked at Harry and Ginny, laughing, and then again they looked at each other, all of them sharing this moment of spontaneity and fun. And still they both held each other’s gaze for a bit longer, trying to snap a photo of the moment in their own minds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! I bring a bit of happy business: romione week on Tumblr is the week of Sept. 18. I have 68742365112 ideas for it, but I don't know how many I will be able to actually get done since my mind is full of Love Me Forever these days. I feel a responsibility to this story and want to write for it as much as I can and as fast as I can. It's even stressing me out; I've been writing in a hurry for the past few weeks in a mixture of inspiration and dread, because come Monday I'll get very busy again and won't have the time to write as much anymore. I'll still try my hardest to post at least once a week, though.
> 
> Let me know what you think and tell me, is any of you old enough to be having flashbacks to the 90s and a Cranberries song with the title for this chapter?


	15. Somersaults

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Although there are no detailed descriptions, there is a bit of talking about depressive and anxious symptomatology.
> 
> Also, please don't hate me

"That's it, we're closed for the day," Harry announced as he came into the office where Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were waiting. "Is it my imagination, or did we have twice as many people here today?"

Ron, who had just been checking the banking book, closed it with a smile. "Two point six times the amount of people. Merlin, if tomorrow is anything like today, we will be three-quarters into the first week's goal! That's amazing!"

"Wonderful," Ginny commented. "It makes it all worth it. But by Merlin, I'm _exhausted_!"

They all nodded in agreement.

"Hey, is it okay if I go to the Burrow with you all?" Hermione asked. "I would like to bring Crookshanks home."

"Of course you can come!" Ginny exclaimed. "You don't have to ask, Hermione. In fact, I don't know why you are staying at your place alone, when you should clearly be staying at home with us," Ginny commented, and Hermione noticed how Ron vehemently nodded his agreement.

"You're so nice to invite me, Ginny, but my parents and I are talking over the phone almost every day. It is really not practical for me to stay anywhere else," she explained, shrugging. "I need to stay in touch with them."

"But you can stay at the Burrow tonight for a little while, right?" Ron asked. "I was thinking to buy something nice to eat, maybe something to drink, to celebrate our success. On the shop's expense, of course."

Hermione checked her watch and realized she didn't have much time. "Oh, I don't know. My parents will call in about forty minutes..."

"So why don't we do this," Ron began. "We finish closing up the store. Then I'll give money to Harry and Ginny to buy something, and then they go home. I'll go to your place with you, so that I can help you Apparate through the wards at the Burrow. What d'you say?"

Hermione looked up at Ron, definitely tempted to agree. She noticed Ginny was wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, probably implying that Ron had ulterior motives... which of course only made Hermione want to accept even more. And, really, there was no problem at all with that, was there?

"Sounds good to me," Hermione replied, trying to stop herself from imagining too much.

* * *

They arrived to Hermione's house in silence, about fifteen minutes before her parents were scheduled to call. They walked to the sitting room and Hermione sat on the sofa right next to the phone. She turned to her left to quickly check for messages, as sometimes her parents would leave one for her if they wouldn't be able to make the call, or to ask that she called them at a specific number. There were no messages this time. Now all she had to do was wait for the phone to ring.

She felt Ron sitting to her right on the sofa, next to her. She hid a small smile; there were plenty of seats available, and he had chosen the one to her side.

"So what do you usually do, while you're waiting for your parents to call?" He asked.

"I'm pretty sure you can guess."

"You read a bit?" he gave her a crooked, knowing smile.

"I read a bit," she confirmed, reaching for a book she had left on the coffee table. "I've been rereading a series that I like. I usually keep this type of fun reading for Summer, and I've been thinking a lot about this series lately. The fourth book came out a bit over a year ago, and I hadn't had the time to read it yet." She shrugged. "I thought I would start from the beginning again, and I'm currently at the end of book two."

Ron reached for the book, brushing her fingers lightly again as he took it in his hand. She looked at him, trying to figure out whether he had meant anything by it, or whether she was just being overly sensitive to such things. He didn't seem to be noticing anything special, so she could not know for sure.

Ron flicked through the book. "So what do you read for fun? What is this about?"

"A woman who goes back in time. At first she's desperately trying to go back to the future, but then she ends up staying there and making a life for herself. The premise is a little too fantastic, but it's beautifully written."

Ron closed the book forcefully and gave her a look that, over the years, she had started to call an _are you bloody serious, Hermione_ look. So, before he said anything, she got ready to defend herself. "What?"

"Traveling in time is _too fantastic_? Says the woman who used a time-turner for a year so she could study three times what the rest of us were studying?"

"The protagonist traveled two-hundred years, Ron, not a mere three or four hours. There's a difference." She quickly turned away from him for a moment, comfortable in their bickering, to instinctively look at the phone and its stillness.

"Still, time travel is time travel," he said as he put his arm on the back of the sofa behind her. Was it her idea, or he had just turned to her and gotten a smidge closer in the process?

She instinctively turned to him so that they were talking face to face. If she had gotten closer to him in turn, it had just been an added benefit. She felt the butterflies in her stomach wildly fly at once, but she tried to quiet them. She would get too flustered and would feel clumsy and self conscious if she focused on them too much. She'd rather all her senses remained sharp.

"Time travel is a really complex thing," she argued. "There's a reason why time turners didn't go back more than a few hours. There's too much potential for ruining things or changing something crucial in everyone's lives if you go back more than a few hours."

"Yeah, and a lot of things could be fixed, too. Imagine, they could have gone back and, dunno, never taken Riddle to Hogwarts or something. There would have been no Lord Voldemort, and no bloody war." Ron looked at her eyes for a moment and Hermione saw him swallow. She had a moment to wonder why he had gotten suddenly nervous, before she realised he was lifting his hand and gently running his fingers over her neck, right where a knife had left a still-healing scar. She immediately forgot anything else on her mind, except for his fingers on her skin, and the vague question in her mind of whether he had felt her gulp at the gesture. "No war, and you wouldn't have had to suffer so much," he added in a soft, raspy voice.

She trembled, the contact a lot more intimate than she ever remembered doing with him. Gathering all her courage and acting on pure instinct, she lifted her own hand, reaching for his. She laced her fingers with his, and held his hand in hers between them. She closed her eyes for a moment, to still her breathing, and sensed him move slightly closer to her.

"With no Voldemort, there wouldn't have been a troll in the dungeons and we probably would have never become friends," she said back, in much the same tone he had used with her.

She opened her eyes, finding his eyes intensely fixed on hers, his face a lot closer to hers than before.

"You don't think I would have gotten my act together, and realised how amazing you are? That we wouldn't have still become friends sometime in the future, and be at the same place we're at today?" Ron said, and she caught him briefly looking at her lips. It made them tingle. She gulped once more.

"Realistically," she said in almost a whisper, "I think we would have been civil toward each other, but I don't know if we would have been best friends."

Another moment, another glance at her mouth. She glanced at his, and saw his tongue peek out of his mouth as he wet his lips. She had to purposely restart her breathing.

"Harry and I wouldn't have gone too far without you, though. And I wouldn't... you know... that is..." he fumbled with words, and she saw doubt creep into his eyes like a fog.

She didn't want him to stop, she wanted to hear what was on his mind, and wanted him to do what she was almost sure he was going to do. She placed her free hand on his leg, as if to comfort him and encourage him, effectively bringing them closer. "You wouldn't, what? Tell me," she finally whispered, with not enough air in her lungs to speak any louder.

"I just... well, if avoiding the war means I didn't get to―to grow up with you, to get to know you prop-properly and, you know, considering how we―won at the end, I... well, I'd rather just have you in my life, no matter what."

Silence fell between them, but it didn't feel heavy or strange at all. Hermione felt like it was a silence full of potential, buzzing with Ron's statement and with Hermione's intense feelings. She felt almost dizzy, and she saw Ron coming even closer to her, his eyes questioning, and she realised she wasn't breathing, and she wanted to close her eyes, while wanting to keep them open to not miss a single detail...

The phone rang.

Hermione jumped in her seat on the sofa, having totally forgotten that she was waiting for a call.

"Fuck!" Ron exclaimed.

"I'm sorry," she genuinely said, just as frustrated as him that the moment had been ruined. She turned away, noticing just how close they had been. She reached for the phone. "Hi," she said with fake calmness, and heard her mum's voice on the other side. _Are you busy?_ she asked, as usual. "Yes, I mean, it's fine, we can talk, of course," she replied, knowing her mum had asked more out of routine than honest query.

Hermione exchanged pleasantries with her mum, a little distracted by what had just almost-happened. She looked at Ron, who had put both arms on the back of the sofa and dropped his head to rest on it, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed.

"Mmm? Sorry, what was that?" She asked her mum, as she realised she had missed the last bit. "I'm sorry, I know... Uhm, no, I'm not alone... My friend Ron, remember him?... Oh, I'm just going to his place afterwards, we're having a small celebratory party with some of his siblings... No, I'll be back after..." she looked at Ron again, and saw that he had lifted his head and was now looking at her. "No, I don't think I'll be staying with them this time. I know these phone calls are important to you both... Of course they're important for me, as well! I said I want to have a good relationship again with you, and I meant it..."

Hermione felt Ron's hand on hers, laying next to her on the sofa, and she turned to look at him. "Do you want me to give you privacy?" he mouthed to her.

She nodded her head no and, for emphasis, turned her right hand under his and laced her fingers with his again. Feeling bold after what had just happened between them, and probably because she couldn't think of the implications as she tried to concentrate on her mother's words on the phone, she lifted both their hands and brought them above and around her head in a circle, until she was able to place his hand on her left shoulder.

"Yes, I think we made the right decision," she replied to her mum's question. "I've felt so much better since coming here... no, it hasn't happened again..."

She didn't know if Ron had pulled her back or if she had let herself do it, but she ended up propped against Ron's side, his arm around her neck and down her arm, her head on his shoulder. "I know mum... yes... I'm still taking them..."

And so the conversation went for the next ten minutes, changing topics after a while from Hermione to how her parents were doing. Finally, Hermione wished them a good day —it was next day's morning for them— and sat straight up again to hang up the phone. She and Ron were not touching each other anymore, and she felt the difference. The mood had completely shifted. They probably wouldn't be able to go back to what they had been doing before, not after the call. She turned to him, not knowing how to take it from there, hoping he knew. She didn't expect to see the concern in his eyes.

"What's going on, Hermione? Will you tell me what those _issues_ you mentioned yesterday are?"

Of course, even if she had tried to not give much away in her side of the conversation with her mum, Ron was intelligent and had heard enough to let him figure out what they had been talking about. "I will. I just want us to have time to discuss it. I want to be able to explain everything to you, to show you that you shouldn't worry."

"You _are_ planning to tell me, though, right? You're not just evading for the sake of it? You trust me, yeah?"

She smiled, so full in love for this young man. Of course she did, with her life. But she wasn't ready to say it quite that way now. "I do. Believe me. I just think we should go to the Burrow now, they must be waiting for us. But we will find the time."

He nodded his acceptance and stood up, offering her his hand. She got up and took it in hers. They were together, even if they kept missing their opportunity to make it all they wanted.

* * *

"This was supposed to be a celebration," Ron yawned. Through teary eyes, he saw everyone nod in agreement.

"It is, it's just that we're all exhausted," Harry commented to one side of Ron. He looked around, and saw George to his other side, silently sipping on butterbeer; then Ginny, then Hermione with Crookshanks on her lap, her hand gently rubbing behind his ears.

"Yeah, but the shop has done so well these past couple of days. Aren't you glad, George?" Ron asked his older brother, who looked up at him with the ghost of a smile.

"Sure I am," he replied in what Ron now thought of his _normal_ voice. No hint of joking, not really serious; not even monotone, just a normal, conversational voice. It would have been a normal voice in anyone but George, anyway. "You've done an excellent job, Ron."

"Oh, it's not like that," Ron dismissed. "I was just following your instructions."

"For some of it," George countered, "but you also came up with a lot of good ideas on your own. If we had known, we would have used you a lot earlier to grow the business," he finished, the casual and subtle mention of Fred being noticed by everyone. The mood in the room changed immediately, and George noticed it too. "Oh, bloody hell," he exclaimed with annoyance. "Stop reacting like that every time I mention Fred. You only make it worse."

"So how should we react?" Hermione softly asked, her hand now still on Crookshanks.

George turned to her and sighed. "Just... Just act normally. We can't pretend he didn't exist, and we can't pretend he's here. Let's just _not_ _pretend_ , alright?"

"Then let me ask you this," Ron said, trying to shift the conversation despite George's request. "Do you think you can come to help with the business more often? Dunno, maybe a bit every day or every other day?"

George dropped his head to the side, considering. "I suppose. I know I should be helping more over there. I just don't have as much energy as I used to, like I have explained before. Rationally, I realise that working helps me, but it takes a long preparation for me to be able―" he interrupted himself, and his shoulders seemed to drop under a heavy weight. "Anyway, I'll try. We'll start on Monday."

Silence fell in the room again, the mood still heavy. Ron racked his head trying to think of something to say, but George groaned before he could find anything.

"So this is why I don't spend as much time with people anymore. As soon as I speak, something happens that makes everyone go quiet and awkward and I hate it. I hate feeling like I'm the only one who's a wreck," he started getting up. "So goodn-"

"I've had what Muggles call panic attacks," Hermione suddenly said, interrupting George. Ron sharply turned his face to her, shocked out of his worry for his brother. He sensed George going back to sitting next to him. "They're horrible. You feel like there's not enough air in the room, like your heart is going to burst out of your chest, and that you're going to die."

The rest of the group was still silent, but the air was now buzzing with a different kind of feeling. Nobody seemed to know what to say.

"I had a few of those, and a couple of times I was sure I was back at the worst of the war," she said, and Ron knew that she meant being tortured by Bellatrix. His throat formed a knot, while his head realised she still was managing to keep that information from Ginny and George. She was rationally choosing what to tell them about what he was sure were her _issues_. She knew what she was doing, and she was doing it for George.

Ron closed his eyes for a moment, wanting to stop her, wanting to comfort her, wanting to listen to her and learn what he could do to make it better. But Hermione continued before he could figure out what exactly to do.

"The important thing is," she continued, and Ron realised he had opened his eyes again as he saw hers zeroing on his, "I'm healthy. I don't have any medical reason to feel the way I do. It just happens to me because I do it to myself. If that's not being a wreck, I don't know what is."

"Hermione..." Ginny said, placing a hand on Hermione's arm. "I am so sorry. How are you doing now? Is that still happening to you?"

She nodded her head no. "It hasn't happened since I came back. I thought for a moment that it would happen, on Thursday, right before I left. But it didn't, and I'm glad. I'm taking Muggle medicine to help with it."

Ron looked at her, her head now bent to avoid everyone's gaze, evidently ashamed of it now that it was out in the open. He had to say something. "We're all dealing differently, Hermione. I can only sleep a few hours each night, and when I do sleep, I often have nightmares. You have those attacks. It's not something we do to ourselves; it's something that is happening to us because of all we went through," he heard himself say. He quickly turned to Harry and pointed at him with his finger. "And don't you start thinking this is your fault because it was our choice to be there in the first place," he finished.

"I got that from the first time you said it, thanks," Harry grumbled.

"I don't know when Ron grew up, but he's right," Ginny said. "We're dealing." She turned to look to George, her hand still on Hermione's arm. "All of us are."

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry," he scoffed in a hint to humour. "I get it. We're all a bit of a wreck." he said, lifting his glass in a toasting gesture. "To all of us, successful entrepreneurs, who don't let each other get away with shit, but who, above all, are there for each other. I sure am glad I can call you all my family. Cheers!"

"Cheers," they all said. Ron added, "quite the celebration, eh?"

* * *

"We're going home, Crookshanks," Hermione said as she put her pet in its traveling cage. She stood up and faced her friends. "Thank you so much for taking care of him for so long," she said.

"No problem, Hermione," Ginny replied. "We're gonna miss him. He helped so much with the garden gnomes!"

Hermione saw Ron bend his lanky body to reach down between the bars, petting Crookshanks fondly. "I reckon he'll miss the Burrow, as well."

Hermione tried not to show her shock at Ron's affectionate gesture. "I'm sure he will," she finally commented.

They all said bye and everyone left her but Ron, who stood by her side seeing everyone else go to the kitchen to clean up.

"It's been a long day," Ron said.

"Yes, it has been," she agreed.

"Hey," he said, taking a step to stand in front of her, his back to the rest of the house. "Are you alright?"

Hermione knew exactly why he was asking. "Yeah," she replied, looking back at him. "I didn't mean to say anything, and I did want time to explain everything to you, but seeing George like that― I just―" she gave up, shrugging.

"I know," he said, reaching for one of her hands and holding it in his. "Thank you for that. He's been... well, I guess you can imagine. You saw a bit of it tonight."

"But you say this is him being better?" She asked, worried. If _this_ was _better_...

"Sadly, yeah. He's not the same. But he _is_ better. And I think that what you did really helped."

She sighed. "I just wish I could do more, you know?"

She saw him nod in agreement. "It's been very difficult for all of us. I can't even imagine what you've been through. And if I'm not mistaken, from what I heard of your conversation with your parents, things have not been that good between you, either."

"No, they haven't," she confirmed, looking up to the ceiling and then closing her eyes for a moment. She opened them again and looked at Ron. "Can we just not talk about it, for now? Not tonight, anyway. I've had enough emotionally charged experiences for today."

Ron looked down to their hands, his thumb rubbing her skin. "Not... not all of it bad, I hope?"

Hermione felt herself blush, knowing what he was thinking of. She was thankful that the room was only dimly lit; he wouldn't see the color in her cheeks that way. "No, not at all," she finally said.

Some time passed by, neither seemingly wanting to say goodnight.

"There's so much I still want to talk to you about," she started to say, and saw interest being quickly replaced by concern in his eyes. "Nothing to worry about, not now," she rushed to tell him. "It's just that... so much happened while I was away. Not only things that happened to me, but so much seems to have happened to you and everyone. I hate not having been a part of it."

"I missed you," he blurted, and Hermione had to purposely not think of the funny feeling in her stomach, like a hundred somersaults.

"I missed you, too," she said back, echoing the smile that had started to appear on his face.

"Will I see you tomorrow? 9 am-ish at the shop?"

"Yes."

"Good, we'll have time, then," he said, letting go of her hand. He lifted one shoulder. "Time for everything."

As she left the Burrow, she couldn't help but hope that his everything was the same as hers, that it would happen soon, and that it would be forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So do you hate me? Lol. UST FTW y/y?
> 
> First, you should know this chapter was written a looooooooong time ago, and the talk about time-turners and stuff had nothing to do with Cursed Child then and it has nothing to do with it now. Call it a """funny""" coincidence…  
> On a happier note: do you guys know the name of the book Hermione is reading? If you do, you have Great Taste in books :wink wink:
> 
> Second, ShePotter at FFN wondered in her last review if the title of chapter 14 being related to the Cranberries song had anything to do with the direction this story was going to take and, because of the Absolute Seriousness of the topic, I decided to make it into a PSA.
> 
> PSA: NO, no, no, never! Don't worry about that. I just mentioned the song because the title reminded me of it, not because the topic reminded me of the story. You don't have to worry ;)
> 
> So thank you, ShePotter, for your review; and thanks to everyone else who takes the time to let me know how they feel about this story. This story owns my heart and my mind and to know you guys enjoy it makes all the time and effort worth it.
> 
> Ps: if the title of this chapter reminds you of that Zero 7 song, then congrats, you also have awesome taste in music, lol. I swear I don't name the chapters after songs but if the title reminds me of it and I hum it as I post it then that's just an added benefit isn't it?


	16. Steps

_ Plan, plan, plan. Come up with a plan, you git. _

Ron, having finished with the latest inventory of the shop's products, stood in the middle of the storeroom, trying to think of the best way to invite Hermione out.

The events of the previous day, those glorious minutes at her house, had been in constant repetition on Ron's mind the night before. He had enjoyed the process of dissecting each microsecond of what had transpired between them; enjoyed the image in his mind of the way she was looking at him and the way her face had turned up to him. For the first time in his life, he was truly, authentically hopeful that he was on the right track. He thought that convincing Hermione that being with him was a good idea was, actually, _possible_. He just needed to figure out exactly how to get them to that point next, and as soon as possible. For his own health.

Despite his original plan to take the time to show her that he was good Serious Boyfriend Material, he knew that had her parents not called at the worst possible time, he might have gone ahead and kissed her. She had seemed a little unsure of his intentions, and she had made no evident effort to kiss him. In contrast, she had not rejected what he thought was the very obvious signs that he wanted to kiss _her_. So, had the phone remained silent for just a few more minutes, he might have gathered enough courage to kiss her and see her reaction. He was pretty sure now that Hermione was, at least, not _opposed_ to such doings, even if he couldn't know whether she saw that as the opportunity for the same type of relationship he wanted.

_ If this were chess, how would you study the pieces? _

_ This is not chess, you idiot. This is the girl you're in love with, so no pressure or anything! _

But still. He knew he needed a plan and, that being the case, he needed to figure out where things stood with Hermione. Because, after what they had almost done the day before, he was considering whether maybe it would be a reasonable risk to kiss her first and prove himself to be a good choice second.

_...what if I cock it up, though? I'm bound to cock it up at some point. _

And when he did, he needed to have given Hermione enough reasons to want to stay with him anyway.

"Ron?" The door opened and Hermione came into the room.

"Oh, hey," he said, taking a few long steps to her and hoping it wasn't too obvious he had just been standing as an immobile git in the middle of the room for several minutes. He slowed down as he got closer, but didn't fully stop until he was close enough to whisper if he wanted to. 

"Ginny just came back from having lunch with Harry," she explained, looking up to him with eyes opening wide. "I want to go check on Crookshanks, and then I'll grab something to eat. I thought I'd let you know."

"Alright. Mind if I join you to eat?" He asked impulsively, the idea of inviting her out still fresh on his mind. Seeing her getting disconcerted by his closeness reminded him of his plan to push the friendly boundaries of closeness to something more intimate. He had to find a little something to do to show her what was going through his mind, whatever the hell he could come up with that would be less than a kiss but more than a friend. His slow brain was freezing, though, and he was nervous by the closeness himself.

"Not at all!" she exclaimed after a moment, seemingly settling on being happily surprised.

"How about we meet at Fortescue's?" He suggested as it was the only place he could think of when all of his attention was on looking at her. He tried to hide a nervous gulp, lowering his face to her even more.

She opened her mouth to talk, but nothing came out as he reached up to put a strand of her hair back in its place. He had seen it fall and had noticed she was reaching up to put it back behind her ear, but he still did it himself, his hand covering hers and his long fingers curling around her ear. It was an automatic reaction that was exactly what he had been hoping for. He looked down at her to check her reaction, and thought that maybe she looked slightly flustered. He decided to push his luck and get the tiniest bit closer to her, offering a nervous smile. 

"We can't have ice cream for lunch, Ron," she finally said, a soft blush on her face, her eyes unwavering on his. 

His smile grew wider, satisfied at the effect that his little intervention seemed to have had on her. "They don't only sell ice cream now," he explained, unaware of how deep his voice had gotten as he talked to her this close. "Florean's children reopened the Parlour recently, and decided to expand the menu slightly. They also sell small things like sandwiches and things. I thought we could try it out."

"Oh, okay. Uhm... Yes, of course, let's do that. Meet you there in fifteen minutes?"

"Brilliant," he replied, but didn't move. He would let her make any kind of move she wanted.

She finally took a step back and turned her body away, still looking at him, a questioning look on her face. "See you, then," she said.

He only nodded as she walked away, thinking that it was a very good thing that Hermione seemed to be accepting of his advances, while blind to the knot in his stomach and deaf to his rushing blood.

Now if he could only find the guts to go ahead with the new plan that was forming in his mind...

* * *

 

Ron had picked one of the small tables next to the window. He sat there waiting for Hermione, and lifted his arm to show her where he was as soon as he saw her cross the door.

"Hey! I'm glad you made it!" He said.

Hermione arched an eyebrow at him, puzzled. "Why wouldn't I have made it?"

Bloody hell, he was nervous and already making a fool of himself. She sat opposite of him.

"So what do you want?" he asked back instead of answering her question and getting himself in a worse place. He handed her one of the small menus, which he had read a few times already. Even if most of it was comprised of ice cream flavours, there was a small section at the top with a few different sandwiches.

They took a few minutes to order, settling into their chairs at the table. Ron wondered if that had been the only time they had been alone like that, out somewhere, and realised that it hadn't.

"Hey, you know what I just remembered? Getting ready for our third year, you and I came to this same place and had ice cream. Funny we're here again, isn't it?"

She lit up. "I remember! We were waiting for Harry. I think that was the day I got Crookshanks, wasn't it?"

"I think so. Man, that was a wild year."

She looked up at him, smirking. "Did we ever have a non-wild year?"

He laughed, but there wasn't much mirth in it. "Point taken. So, why did you want to check on Crookshanks?"

"I realised I never have really left him at home alone for too long; if I was staying at home during a break, I would be there with him. If I spent time at the Burrow, I took him with me. Instead, now I will be away for most of the day with nobody there to take care of him." She shrugged. "I just wanted to check he's alright."

"He's a cat, Hermione. I'm sure you found him napping under a ray of sun, absolutely content."

She lifted her nose in a familiar haughty expression. "Perhaps. But I didn't think he would be happy being confined to the house after getting used to all that freedom at the Burrow, would he?"

"I don't know. I rarely saw him go out of the house, much. I rather think he's happy to stay in the comfort of a home, really."

Their lunch was delivered. Ron looked at her and realised she still looked slightly concerned.

"Hey, what's the problem? I really do think he's fine. Don't you?"

"I don't know. I mean, first I left him at the Burrow when we went away, and then I went to Australia. I was away for so long. I have been a very bad pet owner during the past year or so. I don't know if he even considers me his owner at all, anymore. He is so intelligent, too, that he's probably aware that I made the choice to leave him with Ginny and that I should have returned when you did. So I wonder, maybe he's mad at me for leaving and I can't ask him, can I? I can only show him I still want to be with him-- I mean, take care of him, right?"

"Well, he is an intelligent cat; I learned as much by now. I know for a fact that he wondered why you weren't here, but if he was mad at you he would have made it clear, wouldn't he? He's pretty obvious, Crookshanks is!"

Hermione gave him a look. Ron started to wonder if Crookshanks was all they were talking about.

"You're right, it's pretty obvious when he's upset, and I don't think he is. I don't know, I wonder if I hurt his feelings; it's not like I can explain to him why I made the decision to go. I'm not sure I can even explain it to you right now, not coherently, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, forgetting all about getting a confirmation that they were not only talking about Hermione's pet, in the curiosity of finally having the opportunity to ask about her leaving.

"When Kingsley found me he was obviously distraught. He quickly explained that they were closing the borders and that they had made a Portkey for me to go to Australia, and that I had to either leave immediately or wait several weeks. When I say immediately, I mean it. I only had a minute to make the decision. And, well... I was... I was so tired I couldn’t think straight and I knew that going was the right thing to do, so I went. I didn't realise that having the borders closed meant I couldn't return to England. I didn't think about it until late the next day! So stupid of me."

Ron felt bad for her as she was evidently upset. He reached for her hand on the table. "Don't say that, it was the logical thing to do, it wasn't stupid! I remember how I felt that day, I was groggy with the need for sleep and, really, my brain couldn't manage anything more complex than finding my way to a bed." She laughed, which always comforted him when he was trying to make her feel better. "Seriously, the only reason I stayed awake for so long was because I was trying to find y-- ah, some food. You know my stomach rules many of my decisions," he finished lamely. At least he had managed to not lay all of his cards on the table by telling her he had been looking for her for hours. It would have made it too obvious, wouldn't it?

Still, he knew this was the best opportunity he had had yet to ask her something else he had been constantly wondering while she was away. Something that, despite his best efforts, had kept him awake at night on more than one occasion. "So, remember that before going to Dumbledore's office we sat at one of the tables in the Hall? I don't know if you noticed... or if you remember... but I told you I would go with you to Australia?"

He saw Hermione's eyes grow wide. "You mean, when you said you would help me with my parents? I didn't think you meant it like that!" she exclaimed. Ron realised they were still holding hands when she squeezed his. "I thought that was just you being you, wanting to support me with that. I never thought you meant actually going with me all the way there!" Ron looked down to the table, feeling doubt hardening his chest. It wasn't doubt that she was telling the truth, but doubt of himself for not having made it clear, wondering how much he had spoiled because of it. "Besides," she continued, "I wouldn't have had the time to get to you before the Portkeys stopped working, even if I had known you meant it like that. I simply assumed you would want to stay with your family."

Still feeling down at his incompetency, he couldn't help but to say "Much help I was. All I did was clean the house for days. Rather useless, really."

Hermione let go of his hand, which upset Ron until he realised she had done so to be able to move her chair to sit right next to him. From this new place, she was able to lower her head to look at him closely. She grabbed his hand again. "No, no. I'm sure it wasn't like that. Your mum said you were amazing. Honestly, knowing how you think sometimes, I think I'll believe her on this."

It was Ron's turn to laugh. "Thanks. I think." They were really close, so that he had a clear view of how her lips curved in a soft smile.

Looking back on their lunch together as he closed the store, Ron realised that, even after the mood had gotten back to normal, they hadn't really gone back to sitting apart. He wasn't sure when they had stopped holding hands, but he did know that it had lasted much longer than a simple friend's comforting touch. Having now Apparated to the Burrow, he put some of the food his mum had made earlier on a plate and sat to eat, alone in the kitchen.

All in all, Ron realised that whole situation was pretty much what he imagined being Hermione's boyfriend would be like. Not in terms of comforting each other, that was something they had been doing for years; something that had become part of their friendship a long time ago. It was about the closeness, the intimacy. The holding hands, the sitting next to each other, the openness. The main difference was that, had they been officially together, he would have kissed her when she gave him that smile. He had actually briefly considered it at the time, but had instantly decided that he didn't want to have their second first kiss in front of all those people.

As comforting as the thought was, and as much longing as it woke in him―seriously, just being able to kiss her whenever he wanted, that was all he asked―, something was nagging him about it all. Why hadn't he told her he had been looking for her that day? Why had he come up with the lame excuse of having been looking for food? Why had he stopped himself?

If he were to be completely honest, it was simply because he had had the briefest moment of panic, the kind that barely registers before you stifle it away because it would be too much to handle. He knew that she could either have interpreted it as simply as a friend worried about his friend, but also as him telling her something else. Had that been the case, the conversation could have quickly reached a point where he would have had to spill his heart in front of her, for her to do what she pleased. The prospect of telling her how he felt seemed like too much of a risk. That's why the idea of kissing her first and explaining second was growing more and more appealing. In order to do that, he knew he had to also convince her with his actions that it wasn't a bad idea to let him kiss her; to make her want to kiss him back.

Still, between what had happened the day before and the conversation they had just had, Ron knew there weren't any more reasons to convince himself that he wasn't ready to take that step. And, really, wasn't it his turn to take the risk?

_ But what if I mess up? I can't fuck this up. I can't let that happen. I can't lose Hermione because of my idiotness. _

He knew that, at the root of it all, of why he hadn't yet made a move, it was that he was afraid he was misreading the signs and that he would make a huge mistake. In a way, it was easier to only be her friend than being nothing at all. The time they had been apart in sixth year because of his stupid pride had only been a sample of what was to come, when he had left them during the hunt. On those terrifying nights at Bill and Fleur's cottage, he had promised himself that, if only he was granted the opportunity to go back to them, he would be the best friend there was. Knowing, too, that Hermione could never forgive him for leaving her like that, he promised he would learn to be happy with being just her friend.

Even if a miracle had happened and she had actually forgiven him, and even more, she had actually kissed him at one point; even if all the signs of her wanting to be with him were there, he was still afraid to make a move, in case he ruined what they already had. If he had actually misread the signs, and she did not want to be with him, after all, then he knew he would have to say goodbye to her and to their friendship forever.

_ Someone push me, make me do it. Or give me a sign. Something. Something that tells me I'm not ruining it by wanting more, by wanting it all _ .

"Oi, I didn't know you were back from the shop yet."

Ron, who hadn't realised he had been holding his lowered head on his hands, straightened up when he heard George's voice. "Hi, yeah. You'll be happy to know we met our weekly goal today, four days in advance."

"Brilliant," he said, seemingly impressed, sitting with a plate of food in front of Ron.

"Hey, I was thinking earlier today―" Ron started, but was interrupted.

"You actually thought today? Wicked! Once a day, that's a great start," George teased.

It didn't bother Ron, though. It actually made him kind of happy. "Did you just make a joke?"

George stared back at him, a confused look on his face. A few other expressions went over his face, until he finally settled on slight shock. "I guess that's just what I did. Anyway," he quickly changed the subject, "were you saying?"

"I meant to ask you, or suggest, I don't know, that maybe―"

"Get on with it," George demanded.

"It would be helpful for the shop if you could go back to creating new products. I know that you may not be ready for that yet, but I thought I would tell you anyway, so that you start thinking about it."

He didn't answer for a moment, thinking it over. "I don't know about that, yet. It was a very dynamic process, what Fred and I had. I haven't thought of how to make it work, now that it's just me."

Ron felt a pang at the mention of Fred, a familiar and painful knot in his heart, but he quickly remembered George's request the previous night. _Don't pretend Fred wasn't a part of our family_. "Let me know if I can help, somehow. I don't think I could help you the same way Fred used to, but I can try to help at least with some of it."

George nodded his agreement. "I also told you I would start trying to go to the shop a bit every day. What time should I go there tomorrow?"

Ron shrugged, and stood up with his plate in his hand. He took a few steps towards the sink, left the plate there and ran the water, his back to George. "Whatever time works for you is fine. Harry starts training for the Aurors tomorrow, so it'll just be Ginny, Hermione, and me. We could use an extra pair of hands, if you can handle the amount of people. And, even so, we should think of hiring someone else to help."

"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. Now that you mention Hermione, your letters are here."

Ron was so shocked he couldn't think of a word to say. He simply turned slowly to George, the water still running behind him onto his unwashed plate, his face an unregistered slack jaw. "Letters? Hermione's letters? _Where_?!"

"Dad left them in your room. An Owl came this morning and--Oi!"

Ron had abandoned the kitchen, tap water running freely behind him, all thoughts about anything but the letters forgotten.

"You are welcome!" George yelled behind him, now alone in the kitchen. Ron never heard it.

* * *

 

Hermione sat on the little patio behind the kitchen, the door behind her open. She had thought to spend some time outside reading her book, giving Crookshanks the option to come outside if he wanted. She had sat on the steps going down to a small patch of grass, a drink to her side, and had quickly become engrossed in the story. She didn't even realise that her pet had indeed come outside, only to curl up and nap on the pillows of a nearby chair. The book's characters had just had to choose to spend the rest of their lives apart, and even if she had known that it was going to happen and what happened after, she couldn't stop herself from crying at the scene of their goodbye.

Merlin, to experience a love like that. So much giving, so much shared. Maybe it was impossible to share your heart like that with someone unless you went through the type of things those characters had been through. How could you otherwise break through the walls that protect each person's soul, so that you can access that core and, in that private and tender centre, embrace them with love?

Hermione didn't have the answer. She didn't know if she would ever experience that kind of undying, powerful love, but longed to do so. And couldn't help but to compare it to the kind of love she felt for Ron. 

Maybe age had something to do with it. Ron and she had gone through some pretty horrible, life-threatening experiences together, yet she felt like her love for Ron was much more innocent than the one described in the book. Or, maybe, it was about sexual intimacy. Sharing your body like that with someone surely had an influence on the kind of love you felt for each other, right?

She imagined one of the explicit scenes in the book she had just finished, but instead of the characters, she imagined herself and Ron. Feeling him on top of her, around her, in her. Him wanting her like that and she giving herself to him like that; taking from him as much as she offered. A shiver ran down her spine, her breath quivering. If twilight hadn't been so perfectly beautiful at the moment, the sky full of pinks and violets, she would have considered going inside and doing something about it. Instead, she contented herself with actually feeling arousal, as she had not really felt much of it of late.

The last time she remembered feeling like that was several weeks ago, when they had still been at Shell Cottage. It happened a few days after they had arrived, so that her aches had been considerably easier to handle. One afternoon, she had needed a nap and Ron had decided to keep her company until she fell asleep. She never knew why or when it had happened, but when she woke up, she had realised that Ron was napping beside her. As he had still been sleeping and both were laying on their sides, she had taken the time to look at his face, so close to her on the bed. One thing had led to another, and she had suddenly found herself imagining different activities that could take place in a bed.

As far as she knew, Ron never realised at the time that she had been tingling at the thought of them together in that manner. She hadn't felt anything like that since then, and she had thought that maybe it was because of the medicine she was taking, as she knew that it was a possible side effect. Her reaction to the end of the book and to imagining herself being intimate with Ron made her question if that was the case, making her wonder how she would react if something like that actually happened between Ron and herself.

She never thought to wonder why she had only ever thought of herself doing those things with Ron, as a magical ring in the air let her know someone was approaching her home's door.

Unavoidable anxiety, as she couldn't imagine who would be coming unannounced at this time of the day, disappeared in an instant as she saw it was the very subject of her racy thoughts.

"Ron?"

"Hi," he said, and there was something in his eyes that changed her feelings immediately to a completely different kind of nervousness. "Can I come in?"

"Sure, yes, of course," she said inviting him in, the pit of her stomach rolling with soft waves of tension.

What could he possibly want? When they had said bye at the shop, they had talked about seeing each other the next day. She had fully expected to see him early next morning; instead, he had come to see her late in the evening. There had to be something that had caused it. She led him to the deck where her book and drink lay forgotten, her curiosity piqued, needing to know his reasons.

She sat on the steps, in the exact same spot as before, her legs crossed and her feet on the step immediately below. Ron seemed to hesitate a moment, but he finally sat beside her. Hermione looked at him expectantly as he turned to her. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again as he took a good look at her. He burrowed his eyebrows and finally asked, "were you crying?"

It took Hermione a moment to understand what he must be seeing, and she laughed self consciously. She pointed at her book and explained, "I finished my book, that's all. Emotional ending."

"Oh, alright. So you're doing fine?"

Hermione found it a little odd that he was asking like that. "Uhm, yes. Are my eyes too puffy? Red?”

“No, no, you can barely see it. I guess I noticed it because… well, because I know you very well,” he finished in a low, uncertain voice.

“Yes, I― I think you do, of course."

"So you would say that you're... dunno, calm?"

"I was, until you started this very odd conversation," she complained, unable to follow his train of thought. She saw him purse his lips and squint at her, as if trying to decide something. "What’s going on?" She asked.

He laid back, resting his weight on his long arms. He shrugged. "I was thinking of what you told us last night, about your terror attacks."

"Panic attacks," she automatically corrected him.

" _Panic_ attacks," he repeated. "Do they... do they still happen?"

Hermione let out a quivering breath, not wanting to think of that. Still, she was determined to answer his questions if only to get at the bottom of what was in his mind.

"I haven't had one in a while," she told him. "I think the Muggle medicine I'm taking is really helping with that."

"Oh, good," he said, and then fell silent.

She looked at him as he stared up to the almost-dark sky, his profile sharp in the dimming light. His eyes were open wide, his eyelashes silver against his pale skin, his freckles stark. He was gorgeous to her, but not even that could distract her from the odd situation. She noticed he was biting the inside of his lips as if in deep thought, and she knew that whatever he was thinking was making him nervous. She had no idea what was going on in Ron's mind, and it was driving her crazy.

"It's a great summer night," he casually commented as he turned his face to her, looking again at her like he was searching for answers.

"What's going on, Ron?" she asked again, returning his searching look.

"I..." he hesitated. He took a few moments before he moved forward on the deck, casually getting a bit closer to her in the process. Distracted, Hermione looked for a moment at the reduced space between them, as if she would find all answers there. "Blimey, I don’t know where to start," he finally uttered. 

Ron's nervousness was starting to infect her. She unconsciously wrung her hands in her lap and wracked her brain for something to say. "Maybe... just tell me what's on your mind?"

"I’m trying to decide something,” he cryptically said. 

"You're not making sense, Ron," she insisted. Extremely confused, she began to wonder whether she should be worried about him. Maybe someone had put a spell on him...?

He suddenly turned his body to her, apparently having made a decision and scooting another few centimeters closer, effectively freezing her mind mid-thought.

He cleared his throat and wet his lips. "Do you... do you remember the Room of Requirement? I mean, what happened there, during the battle. What you did. What we did, I guess. I-- yeah. Do you?"

Shocked, she had to make an effort to find her voice. "Yes," was all she said.

"I have thought a lot about it, Hermione."

This time, she could only nod. She could feel the heat rising to her face as she blushed, self conscious now that he was so casually mentioning the fact that she had kissed him. Worse, he was not giving her any clue as to whether what he was planning to say was good for her or not, so that hope and terror waged a war inside of her.

She looked down again to the space between them, her breathing short and shallow, steeling herself to whatever was to come.

“When you were gone, I was sure it meant that… you know…”

Hermione lifted her eyes and looked at him, silently willing him to continue. She decided that, whether good or bad, she needed to know. She took in a deep breath, holding it in her lungs for a minute to calm herself down, to then slowly, slowly release it through quivering, nervous lips.

“What did you think of it, then?” She asked him softly, too nervous to raise her voice, trying to steel herself for what he would say next.

“I… the thing is, when you left, I thought it meant you-- that you were not interested… in me… that way,” he continued, putting one of his hands on the deck between them, on the same few centimeters Hermione had been studying just a couple of minutes before. He leaned on it, so that his face was closer to hers, crossing an invisible line into her personal space.

Her heart beating fast, she turned her body to his. She unconsciously bit her lip in expectation, as a daring hope started to grow in her heart. Why else would he have been worried about her not liking him, if he didn’t like her back?

“I have something to tell you,” he began again, and she could hear the slight tremor in his voice, a sign of how unsure he was. “I’m crap at coming up with the right words, though,” he apologized.

“You’re not, really,” she tried to comfort him, to give him enough of a sign that she was going to welcome anything he had to say. She wasn’t aware of how wide open her eyes were, only of how fast her heart was beating. She looked him in the eye, so intensely blue, and the nervousness she saw there made her swallow in eagerness. Each fine hair on her skin stood on end, all directed at him as if reaching for him the same way she wanted to, to prompt him to do what she wanted him to do, to make him say what was on his mind and that Hermione was daring to hope would be what she wanted to hear. “Just say it,” she insisted.

“I know I should, but-- I just-- I didn’t think I could… so I decided to do something else,” he announced, and squirmed in his place to look for something in his back pocket.

“What…” she started to say in disappointment, when he reached what he had been looking for and held it, a crumpled piece of thick paper, in front of her. 

“It’s for you,” he explained, and Hermione took it from his hand.

She looked at what she now realised was an envelope folded in half. She took it from him and opened it, to then see her name written in Ron’s messy script; nothing but _Hermione_ written right in the middle of the folded paper.

“Open it,” he requested and then let out a nervous laugh, “before I lose my nerve.”

With a slightly shaking hand, she turned the envelope around and easily opened it, as it wasn’t sealed. She took the note that was inside of it and unfolded it.

She didn’t realise she was holding her breath.

She closed her eyes briefly to give herself the strength to read what appeared to be a single sentence written at the top of it. Then she focused on the few words that made up the totality of Ron’s letter.

_ I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time.  _

Hermione took in a deep, quick gasp, covering her mouth with her free hand as she was overcome with emotion. The words were so clear, so direct, that she was almost afraid this was not real and she was imagining things. In just a few words, he had expressed all she had been hoping for and more.

“Remember yesterday? When we were on the sofa," he added for clarification, eager and obviously tense. 

"Yes," she whispered, holding the letter to her chest and lifting her eyes to look at him through slightly blurred eyes. 

"I almost kissed you," he let out in a breath, looking into her eyes as he came a bit closer to her.

She couldn’t think; she didn’t want to think. She simply heard herself ask, “do you still want to?”

“Yeah,” he replied, a corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. 

Butterflies filled her stomach, their flight crazy in her excitement. She leaned in closer to him in what she hoped was an inviting manner, putting all of her concentration in what would soon happen.

Ron lifted a hand to Hermione’s face. “Is this really going to happen?” He asked as he looked down to her lips. She nodded her head yes, a soft smile on her tingling lips.

“Alright,” he said, curling his fingers slightly to pull her to him, too painfully slow for her liking.

She saw him getting even closer to her. She closed her eyes and waited, her heart tripling its normal pace at noticing she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. With a shiver, she tried to pay attention to all her senses, willing herself to remember every single second, to keep them in her memory forever.

The kiss came slowly, a soft pressure that seemed at odds with the instant reaction of her body, like a wave that came over her and bathed her in shining light, so different from their first rushed kiss in the middle of the Battle. They gently deepened the kiss so that she felt like her body turned into jelly, having to put her free hand on his chest to help her stay upright. She felt his tongue hesitantly exploring her mouth, and didn't realise she let a small moan escape as she did the same with him.

They were all in, savoring every single moment. Time stretched, so that she didn’t know if they had been kissing for minutes or hours. Finally they came apart with the same leisurely pace with which they had come together. She realised she was slightly breathless, and took in a broken breath to compose herself, rubbing her tingling, warm lips together. When she opened her eyes, she saw Ron grinning down at her and felt her face break in a smile that reflected his. A soft, unbelieving laugh came out of her, causing him to echo her this time.

"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that again," he said, and his slightly raspy voice came as a surprise to both of them.

“I was really hoping you would,” she told him.

He scooted close enough to her that now their legs were touching. He lifted his other hand to her face and brought her closer once more. “I’m going to do it again,” he announced.

She nodded her head yes once before she felt his lips on hers. Tingling electricity traveled down to her fingers, so that she had to grab his shirt under her hand into a fist to release some of it. This time the kiss was a little more rushed, as if they had reached an unspoken agreement to start making up for all lost time.  When they finally came apart, Ron looked down to her hand curled on the fabric. She released it, muttering a soft, “sorry.”

“No, no, I was just making sure I wasn’t imagining things. I liked it. Did you… uhm, did you like my letter?”

She laughed. “Yes, I did. It was perfect. Why…” she began to ask, when the answer came to her on its own. “The letters! You got my letters?” she exclaimed, ecstatic, and saw him smile, looking from her eyes to her lips. “You got my letters… you read the one where I… and you decided to come?”

“I decided I couldn’t wait. I had a plan, before, of how to convince you that being with me was a good idea. But then I read your letters and decided to hell with that, I had to come and see if you’d let me kiss you.”

Happiness bubbled in her chest, escaping through her lips as laughter. He smiled right back at her, and she knew they were both perfectly happy at that precise time. 

His hands came around her now, resting on her waist just above her hips. He lightly squeezed her sides and looked all over her. “I can’t believe I can do this, now. I mean, if that’s alright. I’ve just imagined what hugging you and kissing you would be like for so long that I―”

"How about kissing now, talking later?" Hermione suggested, his hands and his words so new and exciting that she couldn’t wait to go back to it once more.

"Brilliant," was all he said, before he pulled her closer and kissed her once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE YOU HAVE IT! What did you think? Let me know because I have been agonizing over this scene! I had originally written this scene a lot differently, but panicked and wrote it again. And guess what? I almost rewrote it again last week. Both Otterandterrier and Honouraryweasley12 kept me sane and helped me decide against it. I might post the original version of this chapter soon, as an outtake of the story.


	17. Strange

Hermione woke up slowly, the pain in her neck occupying more and more of her awareness as she surfaced from the depths of sleep. She tried to move her head and stretch her neck to lessen the stiffness, and that's when she realised the reason of her ache. She had slept on the sofa, using Ron's shoulder as a pillow. They had somehow managed to stay in a sitting position, Hermione cuddled to his side, one of her legs hooked around one of his. One of his arms was around her, his hand on her back; the other was laying on his stomach, holding hers. She gently wiggled her fingers, feeling his bony joints between them, and smiled at the thought of how, finally, unbelievably, they seemed to have crossed the rigid line that had kept them as platonic friends for so long. Now, after just a few hours of sleep, she was close enough to him to be able to hear his heart's steady beat.

All of it was thanks to what had happened the previous night. She hadn't really had time to process what had happened between them; what she had felt as she read the two sentences that formed his letter and how, in that moment, she had known what would happen. How she had frozen and burnt at the same time. She wanted to go over every single moment again, to savour it and keep it as a memory forever.

They had decided to come inside after many kisses and broken sentences. Hermione had turned on a small light in the kitchen and, then, had gone to sit in the sofa with Ron, without turning on any other light. The effect was that the sitting room was in a dim light, bright enough to see each other clearly, but dark enough to protect their newfound and unexplored... relationship? more-than-friendship thing? In any case, they had kissed often, relishing in the fact that it was possible to do so, no more doubts about that. Between kisses, they had talked for hours. Ron told her of George making a joke, and how he had told Ron that the letters were at his house. Of how he had read all of them with a mix of worry and giddiness, and how none of that had compared to the moment when he reached the letter in which she wrote that she wanted to be with him.

"I'm serious," he had said, laughing alongside her, running his fingers through her hair. "I almost ended up doing accidental magic. I've dried my brain up trying to figure out whether you would let me kiss you or not; and just a few hours ago I was begging for a definitive sign that I wasn't ruining our friendship by wanting something more. I'm sure you can imagine the kind of reaction I had when I got it, right there, clear on your letter."

"Then we should be happy that I wrote that letter, to start with. Did you get the ones after the one we're discussing? I sent a few more."

"Only one extra one, where you said that I didn't need to feel pressured by your feelings if I didn’t feel the same. As if. Maybe the others are still on their way?"

"Maybe. Did you ever learn why they hadn't arrived before?"

"Not really. I think George tried to explain but I stopped listening; I just ran up to my room to read them as soon as I knew I had gotten them," he laughed. "I guess I'll just ask my dad another time."

She put her head on his shoulder. "I'm just glad you got those, at least. I needed to send you that letter at the time, but afterwards I was so scared of your reaction. Like I said, I don't know if I could have handled your rejection."

"Same. I guess that's why I couldn't bring myself to take the risk. I've been meaning to, don't get me wrong. I just..." he laid his head on top of hers. "I suppose I was afraid. I was going to get to it, though, be sure of that. In a week or two, probably, but I would have," he had joked.

And so the conversation had continued. As they got deeper into the night, they had slowly stopped talking, finally falling asleep. She had never thought to question the fact they were naturally falling into spending the night together, and had instead simply enjoyed his proximity as she lost consciousness. Now she was waking up and it was all perfect, and yet a bit different. It had been easy to open up, to talk about everything, in the darkness of the room. Now a bright light was coming through the window, and it made the events of the previous night seem slightly unreal. If she hadn't woken up cuddling with him, she might have wondered if it had not all been just a dream.

She moved a bit and felt him stir. He slowly lifted his arms and stretched, cracking his neck. He yawned and, in reaction, Hermione did, too.

She finally distanced herself and sat up, crossing her legs and facing him, waiting for him to fully wake up.

She wasn't nervous. She wouldn't let herself be nervous.

She saw him blinking slowly and looking around, as if confused of his surroundings, until finally settling on her. A slow smile appeared on his face. "Good morning," he simply said.

"Hi," she said, mirroring his smile and trying not to think of the butterflies in her stomach. "Did last night happen?" She asked, wondering for a moment whether it sounded too silly, but needing to get the hesitation out of the way.

"I hope so, because this might be weird if it didn't," he said as he sat up, turning to her so that one of his legs was on top of the sofa in front of her. He reached up to her face and kissed her. "Just checking I could still do it," he explained.

"You know you don't have to announce it every time, don't you?" She asked, delighted, and happy that kissing her had been his first thought.

"Really?" He joked. "I don't know, it feels a little strange to be able to just do it, doesn't it? I've been stopping myself for so long that I… it just.." he left it at that, waving his hand between them in no discernible pattern, seemingly at a loss for words. He finally dropped his hands to his knees, shrugging it off, and simply smiled at her.

"I know. It _is_ strange, isn't it? But good, too."

"Definitely good, yeah." He lifted a hand again, cupping her cheek. She saw his eyes travelling around her face, and then how they followed his hand as it wandered down her neck, then her shoulder, then down her arm. His hand finally stopped when he curled his fingers around hers. "The kind of good that would have me thinking someone slipped me a Daydream Charm, if I weren't the one selling them now and keeping a close count on them."

She smiled. "You know, you're more romantic than I ever thought you would be."

He laughed. "That was _not_ romantic. _I_ am not romantic. That's about as pretty as I can talk, and it's simply the result of me opening my mouth and letting words come out. I warn you, most of the time I'll be saying shite, and I don't know how long it'll be before I start being rude to you again."

It was her time to laugh. "You forget, I've known you for years and years. I knew all of that."

"And you still like me?" He teased, but she knew there was a thread of insecurity underneath his question as she saw him biting his lip.

She leaned toward him, her hands between them on his leg to support her body. "I still like you. And I still want to be with you," she said. "For proof, just think of all the kissing we did last night. You can't doubt _that_ , can you?"

"It doesn't hurt to hear it, though. So whenever you think of how much you want to be with the git I am, just let me know, so that I can store it away for reference."

"Sure," she said, rolling her eyes.

"It wouldn't hurt if you, you know, decided to kiss me out of the blue, all random-like, as often as you want."

"Sure," she said again, laughing this time, and kissing him. "Anyway," she changed the topic, "won't they be worried at your house that you never went back?"

Ron made a gesture of dismissal. "Nah, don't worry about it. I found George talking to Ginny before coming here and I told them not to wait for me. The wanker actually made a second joke then, and told me that he assumed the letters had had good news, and to please not cock it up with you. I _think_ it was a joke, anyway. The last thing I saw after that was Ginny's shocked face, demanding that we explained ourselves to her. I didn't, of course. I immediately Apparated to that park I've been using when coming here."

Hermione laughed. "Poor Ginny. I'm glad about everything else, though. When I sent you the letter, I purposely tried to make it as clear as possible that I wanted to be with you, so that you would have no doubts whatsoever. I'm glad it prompted you to come here immediately."

He looked down, embarrassed. "Kind of, I guess. First I took a moment to think of how to do it, and that’s when I thought of the letter. The kind of letter I would have written if I had gotten them when you were still away. So I sat on my chair for two minutes, before I realised there wasn’t much I could think to say. I ended up just writing those things because that was all I could think about. Then I left, but sat at the park for a bit. I was thinking, maybe I should make more of an effort to make it special. I thought, maybe I should have taken you out and, dunno, romance you or something. You know, to show you that I could do that kind of thing."

"I never wanted that kind of thing,” she told him, happy to know how he had reacted to her letter. “I'm glad you didn't go for that plan. Besides, the letter was romantic, I think, in its own way."

"All I knew when I got here and stood by your door was that I wanted to see you. I thought I didn't need to decide one way or another until I did. Then I sat next to you and I couldn't help myself. I waited enough; knowing you wanted to be with me and not going ahead and making it happen? Sod it, I had to do it!"

She smiled. "I'm going to kiss you now," she announced, half mocking him, and had enough time to see him rolling his eyes before kissing him.

"Yep, it's still slightly unbelievable, when you kiss me," he added, nodding in an affirmative motion to emphasize his point.

"I suppose we'll have to kiss a lot, then, to fix that."

"Sounds like an excellent plan."

"And when Ginny asks at the—" She interrupted herself, and then exclaimed, "the shop!"

"The shop!" He said at the same time, clearly realising they had completely forgotten about it. "What time is it?" Ron asked as she turned around to peer at the kitchen clock from the sofa.

"Not too late, it's ten past nine."

"Bloody hell," Ron growled as he got up and combed his hair with his fingers. "I'll go. What are you doing?"

"I'll take a quick shower and go."

"Alright," he said, bending down to her as she was still sitting in the sofa, and gave her a quick kiss. He began to stand back up, but something stopped him. He bent down to her again.

She looked at him quizzically, but didn't ask. It was evident he was going to say something.

"You're right, Ginny _is_ going to ask, and everyone else after her. Well, I realised I never mentioned it last night," Ron began, and by his voice alone she knew his ears had gone red. "I just... the thing is... kissing you and hugging you is all fine, and amazing, and strange, and great, but... Merlin, I feel like a twit, but I just hope you know I see this as something that matters? Something serious. I guess what I'm trying to say, very poorly, is that I want to be your boyfriend? Make it official and all. If you want?"

She laughed. She lifted her hands to his face and brought him closer for a kiss. "Yes. Of course. Honestly, how could you even doubt it at this point?"

* * *

 

Ron went straight from the storeroom to the office, hoping that Ginny wouldn't notice him coming in. It wasn't that he was avoiding her, so much as hoping she wouldn't notice he was late. Any hope that that would be the case disappeared when she forcefully opened the door and stared at him from its frame. He sat on his chair and looked up, pretending he didn't know what she was doing there.

"Yes?"

"You're late."

"I'm sorry, I'll get to work right away," he said and, consequently, reached for parchment and quill to request more inventory.

She sat across from him. "What happened?"

"I slept in."

"Last night, you git. What happened?"

He stopped writing and looked up at her. "That's kind of private."

"Since I checked on you this morning and you were not in your room, and since I see you're wearing the same clothes as yesterday, I'm going to assume you spent the night at Hermione's. So please, I'm not asking for any details, that's gross. Just tell me, do I celebrate for you two while I collect my earnings from the bet I made with George last night, or do I buy a couple of pints of ice cream to make you feel better?"

"What does that even _mean_?" Ron asked, confused and irritated.

"Merlin's balls, Ron. Did you and Hermione figure out you've wanted to be together since 1995 or not?"

Ron smirked, getting more cross at her insistence and teasing. "I never asked you when you got back with Harry, because it's _private_. Why do you care if I got with Hermione or not?"

She raised her hands, exasperated, and got up. "I don't know why I care, you're so insufferable. You know I'm going to get the details from Hermione anyway, right? I'm just cursed with loving you and wanting to see you happy, is all," she complained as she left the office.

"Love you, too!" he screamed from inside the office, knowing she would hear him, and still content at having teased his little sister.

* * *

 

Hermione was at the shop by the time Ron had returned from the Owlery to send the invoices. He went where she and Ginny were checking on the last few things before opening the store for the day, and heard them talk before they saw him.

"I don't know why he didn't want to tell you, Ginny. He must have his reasons."

"But why aren't _you_ telling me? You told me already he did go to your house, and I happen to think you would be pretty bummed if that didn't end well. You don't look like that's the case. So if you don't tell me that it went well, I'm going to assume that it did."

Hermione saw him then and appeared to be relieved that she wouldn't need to answer Ginny. "Hi, Ron. Should we open?"

"Yes, go ahead," he replied as he crossed his arms and stared at Ginny. Hermione stepped out from her place behind the counter and went to the door.

"Hello, people," George said, coming from the back. "I thought the morning would probably be quieter, so I came early. I will probably keep to the office or the storeroom, just so you know. Oh, and Gin? Any news?"

"They haven't said anything. They're both being rather maddening." She turned to Ron and Hermione, her hands up in the air again. "You know what? I'm done. I'll know sooner or later. I don't care. I'll go work with George," she said, abandoning them to man the cashiers and work the room, still empty from any customers.

Ron went to Hermione, who had just turned the sign so that it read _Welcome, we're open!_ from outside.

"Why didn't you tell her?" she asked.

"She jumped to my throat as soon as I got here! Demanding I tell her! I just got rather bent about that. Oh, and apparently, she and George made a bet about it last night, too." He rolled his eyes and lifted one shoulder in dismissal. "It's fine. She's right. She'll have her answer, sooner or later. It's not like I'm planning to hide it, anyway."

"Good, I was afraid you did," she teased, smirking.

"Why on earth would I?"

"I'm glad we're on the same page," she said, putting a hand on his still crossed arms and going up to the balls of her feet to give him a small peck on the lips.

"I KNEW IT!" Ginny screamed, her voice preceding her as she appeared running from around the corner. She hugged them both, one arm around each of them, squeezing. "I'm so happy for you two."

She let go, and Ron was a mix of embarrassment and pride. "Sod off," he said, although he thought that, by his voice, it was obvious he didn't mean it.

"One more thing," she said as she turned away to actually go work with George. "Let's go out tonight. To celebrate that Harry finally began his training, of course, seeing as he has wanted that for so long. I reckon it'll make him happy to learn about you two, as well…"

* * *

 

Ron felt like he was walking on a cloud. He couldn’t  remember when was the last time, if ever, that he had felt this way. It had been both amazing and weird that morning, when he woke up and realised that not only had he lost count of how many times he had kissed Hermione the night before, but she had been the first thing he had seen that morning. And she had looked really nice, too, with her sleepy eyes and the light coming from the window making her all bright and shiny. And if thinking of Hermione as bright and shiny didn't show how high he felt, then he didn't know what would.

Anyway, yes, it had been both amazing and strange. He felt like their attempt at talking through that had been a bit awkward, maybe hesitant. Really, though, he wasn't that worried about it. Their relationship was changing, and they had to find their footing on it before things became completely normal again. As long as they both considered it a good change, then he thought they could make it work. She was his _girlfriend_ , now, after all. That meant something to him.

_And, apparently, it's been obvious I've wanted this since 1995, so it should be alright._

Ron went into the store room and was distracted out of his thoughts when he saw George standing next to the shelves, randomly picking up products and putting them back in place.

"Hey, George. How's it going?"

He didn't turn, but put the box he had in his hands back to its place. Ron could see his shoulders dropping from where he was. "It's not going anywhere, if you ask me. I don't know what to do to help. I don't want to be with that many people and be a good shop host, so not that. You're doing very well with the paperwork, so I don't want to mess with that. I suppose I could work the cashiers, if that'll help."

George's despondency came like a shock to Ron's system, so different it was from his own high spirits. "Don't... well, don't force yourself to do things that are going to make it worse for you. There's plenty you can do back here. Maybe you can keep inventory, if you like."

He lifted a shoulder, unconvinced. "I guess, if that'll help."

"It will. And maybe seeing all those products will inspire you to create more. Eventually," he added, wondering how far he could push George and not wanting to seem too insensitive. "We have managed so far by outsourcing a lot of what we sell, but you told me yourself that innovation really keeps the business going."

"I know, I know," he said, "I'll try. And beware, some of it I might try on you."

"I... ugh," was all Ron said, turning away to go out of the room, hiding a small smile in appreciation for George’s threat. To him, it was a good sign.

"Hey," George stopped him, and Ron turned back to George. "Even though you made me lose a bet, I'm happy for you. It may have taken you years to get to this point, but at least you're compensating by already staying at her place. Nicely done," he said.

"I... we didn't... it's not like— bugger off, that's none of your business," Ron finally exclaimed, both annoyed and baffled. What was he thinking? That he couldn't keep his hands to himself for even one night?

"Sorry, little brother, I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't trying to imply anything. All I meant to say was that I'm happy for you!"

"Thanks," he said pointedly, not knowing how else to respond. "Well, if you mean it, we're going out tonight; Ginny, Harry, Hermione, and I are going to go out tonight. Want to come?"

"Ugh, and throw up to death by the sight of you four? No thanks. Besides, I'm already dreaming of my bed," he sighed.

"Go home after lunch, then. I'll see you home."

"Will do," George said.

"You'll be fine?" Ron asked sincerely, hoping George knew he meant it in every way.

"I think I will. Might take me a while, but I think I will."

* * *

 

Harry arrived at Wheezes half an hour after they had closed the store, clear signs of worry on his face. Ron noticed his furrowed eyebrows immediately, and how one corner of his mouth was slightly lower than the other. A classic worried Harry gesture. Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, but said nothing.

"Ready to go?" Ginny asked him, and he seemed to come out of his thoughts. "You can tell us all about it when we have butterbeer to go with it."

"Yes, let's go. But maybe we should go to a nearby Muggle pub instead, you know, only so that we can be a bit more free."

"Oh, are you worried about yesterday's article?"

"It wouldn't hurt to be mindful, is all," he explained.

Ron felt confused. "What article? What did I miss?"

"Nevermind that, and let's go. Where to, now?"

Ron decided not to push it, but he knew he should probably make a point of keeping track of whatever columns the Prophet had decided to print.

"I can Apparate us," Hermione said, and they all nodded their agreement.

Once the pressure in his chest had disappeared, Ron automatically let go of her hand. Then, looking at her, he realised he didn't want that, so he took it back in his. Surprised, she looked up at him and smiled.

They walked in silence, hand in hand, to a nearby pub. Once there, they got a table and ordered chips and, guided by Hermione, something to drink.

"So, how was it, mate?" Ron asked, curious to know all about the training.

"It was... I don't know, really. I still don't know what to expect."

"What did you do, then," Ron insisted.

"There was a lot of talking; we had to sit through several lectures. The interesting part is that they explained why the first fast-track training took a while to be appointed. Apparently, they designed this special program so that we would train with the group that is more advanced than us, and that group, in turn, with the one that is more advanced than them. Since we're the first fast-track group, what they decided to do was to accelerate the training of those that had already received some training. They just finished the first stage, so they're ready for us, now".

"What about traitor Aurors? Some of that pre-existing training group might have been Dark Wizards, couldn't they? They got selected while the Ministry was under Voldemort's control."

"Yeah, but the Aurors originally in charge were Aurors that Kingsley trusted. So they did a thorough background check on everyone, and decided they could still pursue the Auror career. That's another reason why they had to wait to get us trained."

"How long is it going to last, this special training? Did they tell you?" Hermione asked, and Ron looked at her, concerned that he sensed a bit of worry in her voice. Spontaneously, he tried to distract her by kissing her on the cheek. She briefly turned to him and gave him a smile.

"They said around six weeks. Then two weeks of testing, and we'll be out on the streets." Harry explained, a puzzled look on his face as he stared at Ron and Hermione. Ron bit the inside of his lip not to smile, wondering how long it would take Harry to realise that things had officially changed between his two best friends. He knew that, even though Harry must have seen them holding hands and how he had just kissed Hermione, he hadn’t yet connected the dots.

"Wow," Ron exclaimed, abandoning his previous line of thought and returning to Auror training. "I guess the main word in fast-track was _fast_ , after all. You're getting the same training that originally took eighteen months in eight weeks? Wow," he added again, for emphasis.

"They already feel they've lost precious time. They closed the borders, as we know, to help balance the situation in favor of the new Ministry. They knew they wouldn't have enough trustworthy Aurors to send all over the place behind the most dangerous wizards, so doing that was the only option. Now the borders are open again, and they need as many people as they can get. We'll keep training when we're out in the streets, helping train the new incoming group just like the other group is helping us. But it'll be like we've graduated, mostly."

They all remained silent for a while, mulling things over, when Ron realised an implication of what Harry had just said. "Wait, so if I were to start in the next group, I would have to train by fighting against your group?"

Harry looked at him as he thought about it, quickly coming to the same conclusion. "I guess that's right!"

"That's going to be strange," Ron commented, "to fight against you."

"And I'll be way ahead of you, so I'll definitely kick your arse!"

"Oi, don't be so cocky! You'll be _ahead_ , so if you didn't, then I'd know you _are_ a fraud, after all!"

"Wanker," was all Harry said, but they were smiling at each other.

"Have you thought about what you're doing, Hermione?" Ginny asked and Ron turned to look at his girlfriend. The small smile that had appeared on his face at the thought quickly vanished, when he noticed she looked extremely worried.

"No, no, I haven't, really. I suppose I'll end up returning to Hogwarts, but I haven't made the final decision yet."

"We might as well," Ginny said as Ron put an arm around Hermione to comfort her from whatever it was that had changed her mood, and trying to focus on that instead of the worrying thought of Hermione going away to Hogwarts. "These two are going to be so bloody busy that I doubt they're going to have any time for us, anyway." Ginny finished, pointedly looking at Harry. Ron smiled, as he knew what Ginny was hinting at. She knew Harry as well as Ron did, and he was sure she knew as well as he did that Harry hadn’t quite realised that things had changed between him and Hermione.

"That's not true," Harry complained, a confused look on his face as he looked at Ginny, Ron, and Hermione, "we'll find the time. We'll make it work."

"Merlin's bollocks, I have  never met anyone as oblivious as you, Harry!" Ginny exclaimed. Ron laughed, knowing perfectly well why Ginny was exasperated at Harry.

"What did I do now?" he asked, even more confused, but nobody explained it to him.

* * *

 

They were out of the pub, walking to a safe Apparition place.

"Alright, I'll go drop Hermione home," Ron announced, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Can't stand not giving her a good kiss goodnight, then?" Ginny teased. "Actually, thanks for that. I don't think I will ever be comfortable seeing that."

"Sod off," he said with no heat. "I'm not lucky enough to live with my girlfriend, unlike Harry here who gets to live at the Burrow with you!"

As soon as the words were out Ron realised that he was casually talking about the possibility of living with Hermione. He hoped it wasn't too obvious, because that was certainly taking it a bit too fast and he didn't want to scare Hermione. If need be, he decided he would blame it on the couple of drinks he had had.

"Wait," Harry said in a confused tone, and when Ron saw his friend looking from him to Hermione, agape, he let out a laugh at his sorry face. "Did you say you have a girlfriend? And... uhm, I mean..."

"My _god_ , Harry!" Ginny exclaimed, and all three of them were laughing at Harry at the moment. "Blind as a bat, I tell you. Didn't you notice how they held hands as we walked? or when he, disgustingly I might add, kissed her on the cheek while we were eating?"

"When did this happen?" Harry asked, ignoring Ginny as he mentally connected the dots, a smile appearing on his face.

"Last night," Hermione explained.

"Like I told you that time, I'm happy for you guys as long as you don't get all lovey dovey in front of me."

"Why would that matter, if you don't notice it, anyway?"

* * *

 

Maybe because they both had had a bit to drink, or maybe because they were getting more comfortable with being physically close to each other, but they had somehow ended up snogging on the sofa in, again, a dimly lit room.

Ron never expected the sense of wonder he felt when kissing her, or how it never seemed to be quite enough. Even if she was as close to him as possible, her arms around his neck and almost strangling him, he couldn't stop himself from putting his hands flat on her back and bringing her closer to him. Seeing as she didn't seem to mind, and thinking that she actually might have enjoyed that judging by how she kissed him even more enthusiastically, he crossed his arms around her and squeezed her against his chest. She groaned.

"Sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to be so rough."

"No, no, it was good," she corrected, a soft blush appearing on her face.

"Are your parents going to call tonight?"

"Yes, in a little while. Why?"

Emboldened by the rush that snogging her gave him, he squeezed her again against him and, turning, he lifted her and put her on his lap."Because I want more of this," he explained, kissing her again. "A lot more," he added.

"More?" She asked, her voice slightly agitated. "You mean..."

"Snogging. A lot more snogging," he clarified.

"Oh, I see," she said. "I thought you meant... I mean, well... anyway, I'm all for snogging," she said, and attempted to kiss him again.

Ron, who had realised what she had thought he meant with a nervous yet pleasurable tug in his lower belly, interrupted her. "Oh, no, I didn't mean _that_ , I honestly meant snogging. I mean... I guess... I can't deny that I have... thought about it, but I wouldn't dream to say I thought it would happen right away, you know? And yeah, I suppose it can take a long time—I'm fine with that if that's— if that's what you want..."

Ron's belly still felt funny; he had indeed thought about it plenty of times, but it was true he had never dared to expect it to happen right away. He hadn't realised that even talking about it would be thrilling, though, especially after the most spectacular snogging session of his life.

"I mean, I won't lie, I have... thought... about it, too—"

"You have?" Ron couldn't help but ask, the shock of it too strong to let her talk, or to hide the amazement from his voice.

"Of course I have! I have thought about being with you for a long time, and sometimes—I mean, sometimes I would think about that, too. I don't know when or how we're going to get there, but I have... thought about it, yes."

For a moment, Ron didn't know what to say. To think that Hermione expected that to happen between them surpassed his wildest dreams. He had always assumed it was a possibility, though he thought it might take them ages to get there. He had always told himself he could just wank it out until she was ready, because whenever the time came that they would be together that way, he wanted her to be all for it, as well. And, in fact, he might actually need a wank that night, to calm himself a bit after learning she had considered it. For now, all he wanted was to let her know he was willing to wait as much time as she needed.

"Look, Hermione, I'm not gonna lie. I'm a randy git. I've wanted you—"

He didn't expect her to jump him for another snog. He didn't stop her.

"You were saying?" She asked after a while, breathless.

It took him a moment to remember what he had been trying to tell her. "Oh, yeah. I was saying that I'll probably be ready long before you are. Really, I think I'm ready now. I was ready a year ago, most probably, but I get it if you're not."

"You might be surprised," she whispered and, with a groan, it was his turn to interrupt her for another snog. It was the only thing he could think of to calm the surge of desire filling his belly; to calm, or to make worse, really, he didn’t know.

"Merlin, you can't tell me that and expect me to sleep tonight."

"Sorry," she said. She didn't sound sorry at all, though, but instead she sounded pleased. "I'll try not to tell you that kind of thing."

"No, no, do tell me," he corrected her. "It's wonderful for my ego, even if it isn't for the rest of me. Also tell me if I go too far. I don't want to make you uncomfortable, when— if— I mean, I might get carried away and I don't want you to think you have to do something you'd rather not. If we ever do it, I'd like you to want it, too."

"Will you tell me if I get carried away? If I go too far?"

"Hermione," he said, his fingers curling at her nape to bring her close for a final snog, "you couldn't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you don't mind the slightly-longer chapter? Also:
> 
> Fact #1: I have no self-control, which is the reason I've posted a second chapter this week.
> 
> Fact #2: This story was rated M from the beginning because of the mature themes it covers, which is what the rating was originally meant to warn about. But now, even though some of those themes continue to be present, there's another layer that adds to the story's rating: Ron and Hermione's relationship and growing intimacy. 
> 
> Just as I thought that writing some of the dark stuff in the beginning made the story more realistic, I think that adding Ron and Hermione's Sexual Evolution™ is also a realistic vision of what happens between them over the summer after the Battle of Hogwarts. In other words, expect that aspect of their relationship to be described and an important part of this story from now on. I mean, if you guys only knew the things I've been writing lately...
> 
> I don't mean this to be a spoiler but more of a warning for people who might have problems with that. If there's a reader out there that would like me to add a trigger warning for those scenes, please let me know, and I'll figure something out :)


	18. An Argument

Tuesday, June 23, 1998. Ron had officially been Hermione's boyfriend for one day, 23 hours and approximately 10 minutes.

She had not needed an alarm clock that morning to wake up at 8 am sharp— she was too happy to be tired, too happy to sleep. And she really wanted to see Ron again. She had last seen him the previous night, and it already felt like too long.

She was getting ready for the day with a smile on her face and excited butterflies in her belly, in spite of a shy voice in her mind telling her to calm down. She happily ignored it, though, because she wanted to enjoy this period of newness, of knowing she was finally with Ron, knowing that all they had been through in the journey to getting to be a couple had not been in vain.

She went downstairs to the kitchen to make herself some breakfast, remembering how just a few days ago she had taken some food to Ron. She impulsively made twice the food and packed it into a container, using a warming and freshness spell on it, and decided to take it to the shop to share with Ron. Even if he had eaten already, she knew he'd like it, and she doubted he would mind that she sat with him for ten minutes to have breakfast with him before opening the store...

She didn't know what time exactly Ron would make it to the shop. Checking the kitchen clock, she thought she could leave now, Apparate to Diagon Alley, and walk to it just like she had done on Saturday. She gathered her things and left her house, the smile on her face widening in anticipation.

* * *

 

Diagon Alley was lovely that morning, crisp, fresh air filling her lungs. She slowly made her way to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, joy still bubbling in her so constantly that it drowned the threads of embarrassment she felt at being one of  _ those girls _ that are absolutely smitten by their boyfriends. She had known she loved Ron for a long time, but she had rarely felt herself molten by that love, the excitement and happiness accelerating her very atoms into a frenzy so that she felt she could reach the sky if she just took one jump too carelessly. To the point where her very thoughts were that flowery.

No doubt those feelings were influencing the fast movement from shy kisses into frantic snogging the night before. That, and all the repressed emotions they had endured for however long they had waited to be together. In any case, Hermione had been surprised at how natural it felt to share those intimate, deep kisses with Ron; she had always imagined it would be a gradual path from the point where they started to be together to clinging to each other because their kisses were driving them crazy. And yeah, it may have been the couple of drinks they had had the previous night that caused the change, but she wasn't so naive that she didn't realise there was no going back from that.

So, evidently, before going to bed the night before, she had researched contraceptive charms. Just in case. She didn't think it would happen right away, but she wasn't going to leave such a thing to the last minute. She believed in being prepared. And, in researching that, she had realised how thankful she was that she didn't need to consider taking a pill everyday to avoid pregnancy.

Day by day, every time she took the pills she had been prescribed for her PTSD, she had come to the conviction she did not want to ever have to rely on pills anymore, of any kind. She knew they were a necessity for a lot of people in the world, and that chances were she would need one or another form of medicine in the years to come. The problem was, one, she was only eighteen years old, and two, it was for PTSD. She was ashamed of it. She didn't want to have to control herself with chemicals only because she was too weak to do it on her own. She hated the pills, because they were a reminder of her weakness.

As she walked down Diagon Alley, she thought of what the chances were that she could dispense from the medicine. She hadn't felt like she was going to get a panic attack in days, nor did she have any flashbacks. She was too happy to believe she could feel that kind of terror again. Happiness and terror cancelled each other out, didn't they? Besides, she didn't want to even think of how much depth to her emotions she was being robbed of because of the stabilizers. She did not want to miss a single detail; she wanted to feel all to its fullest. She honestly thought she wouldn't go back to feeling such panic again, not when she was back to her world and, now, she could just hide from it all by having Ron surround her with his arms. 

All in all, she was confident she didn't need the pills anymore. The perfectly responsible side of her knew that it was really the decision of a professional. The issue with that was, she knew that meant she needed to go see a Muggle doctor... and she did not want to do that. She was too comfortable being back in her magical world to go back to the Muggle way of life in any way. And the psychiatrist  _ had _ said that she should feel better on her own after a while, right? With no pills?

Her compromise was to wean herself off the medicine, which she knew was required, so that she wouldn't be taking any more pills over the course of a few days. That way, her body would slowly go back to making its own chemicals, and all would be all right.

How could it not, when her life was following the best path possible?

She opened the door the storeroom, entering the shop in search of her boyfriend.

She didn't find him. She was the first in the shop.

Shrugging and trying to ignore her stomach's growls, she sat down in Ron's chair in his office and waited.

First, she looked at the quills he had carelessly left on his desk, a few drops of their ink falling from their tip and staining the wood. She picked them up, cleaning the tips and putting them away. Then she collected all the pieces of parchment that were thrown around, neatly packing them in their appropriate container, dividing documents according to urgency. She also organized other small pieces and artifacts that were on his desk, wondering for the upteenth time how he could work in what she considered to be a mess.

His drawers were for sure in complete disarray, as well. With a sigh, she opened the first drawer, finding a mismatch of things made of several layers, many of them including half eaten sweets in partially torn wrappers. She gingerly reached inside, carefully lifting a few things to assess the damage, marvelling at the fact there were no bugs busying themselves with collecting as much of that sugar as they could.

"I never thought I would catch you going over my things like that," he heard Ron's casual voice from the door, so suddenly that she jumped in her own skin and let a high-pitched scream escape.

"Ron!" She exclaimed, annoyed she had jumped like that, and the fact that by looking at Ron she knew he thought it was funny. "I wasn't looking through your things, how could you think that?"

"You had your hands deep in the drawer, lifting things and looking around. What am I supposed to think?" He came closer to her and around the desk, leaning against it within an arm's reach, his arms crossed, a raised eyebrow, and a smile.

"Well, if you must know, I was organizing your things because,  _ shockingly _ ," she said in her most sarcastic tone, "they were a mess. I simply was going to try to clean this drawer, I mean, seriously? Half-eaten sweets? Are you three years old?"

Ron laughed, making her annoyance evaporate like dew at noon. He kneeled in front of her, grabbing the chair's armrests to turn the seat to him. "You know, I used to hate it when you nagged me like that. What does it say of me that, right now, I like it?"

Hermione tried to hide a smile but quickly gave up. She put her hands on each side of his face and leaned in to kiss him. "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to look through your things. I  _ was _ trying to organize everything. I didn't realise what I was doing."

Ron waved the issue away with a hand. "No worries. I've nothing to hide, anyway. I was just surprised; I never imagined you'd be the jealous, paranoid type, like when I was w-- uhm, anyway, you're here early," he said, quickly changing the topic, not before Hermione realised what he had been about to say.

She decided to let it go, so she was surprised when she heard herself say, "she had reasons to be jealous, didn't she?"

Ron was obviously embarrassed, but his eyes on her didn't waver. "She was always right about you, if that's what you mean."

Hermione, who didn't want to ruin the shiny newness of their relationship over their past choices, and slightly flustered from the implications, cleared her throat and reached for the bag she had brought from home.

"Anyway, I brought you food," she said, internally cringing at her awkward change of subject. "Did you have breakfast at home?"

Ron summoned the chair that would have been George's, if he worked full time like Ron did, which came rolling swiftly to him. He sat next to Hermione. "Do you really think it matters whether I had breakfast already or not?"

Hermione laughed. "I guess it doesn't."

She gave him his sandwich and then took hers, filling two small cups with tea.

"You're going to spoil me if you keep doing this," he said through a mouthful. She didn't reply. They finished their food in companionable silence.

Once all their food was gone, Hermione filled their cups again. As she did so, she noticed that Ron was looking at her; she could feel the intensity of his eyes on her face.

"What?" She asked, self-conscious.

"Nothing. Just thinking."

"What about?" She passed him his cup.

"It's not as strange, anymore. Now it's like... well, it seems to me like this is how it was meant to be, you know? You and me, I mean. Being together," he added for clarification, stumbling over his words.

"I know what you mean. I'm just so happy. Is it wrong for me to admit that?" She suddenly asked, self-conscious. "It's just that I've been hoping for this for a long time, it's almost like a dream. Sorry," she added again, "I don't mean to be corny."

He smiled. "You're just saying aloud the same things I'm thinking." He shrugged. "Maybe there's a reason why people say corny things; they seem true when you feel like this."

She smiled back, unsure how to reply. He reached for the armchair again, trying to bring her closer to him again.

"How do I get you to kiss me again like last night?" He asked with half a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes.

She knew what to do about  _ that _ .

She stood and grabbed his hand, then sat on the desk pulling him to her in an unstudied fashion. It simply made sense, because then they were more level and it was easier to kiss.

She crossed her legs and moved them to the side to let him come close. He put his hands on her waist, letting them rest on her hips. She put hers on his shoulders. Hermione lifted her face to him, her movements still unplanned and fluid, and he bent down his to hers. 

His lips, very much like on Sunday night, barely touched hers at first. Again, the kiss began slow. Now, though, maybe because of how they had been together the night before, their kissing became snogging much sooner. So they kissed, and kissed. It felt natural, and not nearly enough.

After a while they heard noises coming from outside and they broke apart, only slightly breathless.

"Come have dinner with us tonight? My mum was asking me about you."

"Sure. My parents can't call tonight, so we can leave for the Burrow together."

"Brilliant," he said as he bent down for a final kiss.

* * *

 

"That was absolutely delicious" Hermione said, collapsing down onto the big sofa in the sitting room. Smiling, Ron sat down next to her.

He casually took the hand closer to him and held it in his. She automatically interlocked her fingers with his, with an ease that made him feel like they had been doing it for ages.

"Yeah," he finally commented, patting his stomach with his free hand in agreement. "My mum is the best in the kitchen."

"I do want to try what you've learned to cook, though," she told him as she looked at him with a spark in her eyes. He loved that look she got when she was excited about something. "I still can't believe you can cook now!"

"I'll cook for you one of these days if you like, but don't fool yourself," he replied, trying to conceal the vague sense of pride he got that she was interested in that, or that she was interested in his newly-gained skill. "I might have learned to cook from my mum's recipes, but I'm nowhere near her skill level, and I may never be."

"I'm sure you still cook better than I do, though," she said, leaning toward him in an inviting manner. Ron, immediately understanding her intention, happily gave her a small kiss.

"Ron, do you--" Ron's dad began as he came to the sitting room, stopping himself at seeing him and Hermione kissing.

Ron could feel his ears instantly burn, even as he felt his mouth curling in a tight, small, self conscious smile. He hadn't expected his dad to realise he and Hermione were together quite that way. In all honesty, and perhaps because his friendship with Hermione had existed for so long, yet their romantic involvement was so new, he had not thought of how to tell his parents yet at all. He knew they'd figure it out sooner or later, but not quite that way, intruding into something he never wished to have anyone witness, no matter how innocent.

"Well, but isn't this-- I'm happy for you two!" Ron heard his dad exclaim, but didn't look up to him, still half embarrassed.

"What's going on?" his mum came to the room, curious at her husband's comment.

"Ron and Hermione are together!" his dad said, the pride in his voice embarrassing Ron further. He looked to his side to Hermione, who had a small smile despite her blushing.

"They are?" his mum excitedly asked, obviously delighted. "This is great news! When were you going to tell us? We had dinner and everything and we never knew! Why were you hiding it from us?"

"I wasn't hiding anything!" Ron complained, looking at his parents feeling more annoyed now than embarrassed. "I just hadn't had the chance to say anything. On Sunday-- this just happened," he explained, still a bit shy, still half proud, and realising the best course of action was to satisfy his mum's curiosity right away. Maybe that way she wouldn't bother them about it in the future. He felt better about the whole situation; maybe they had walked on them in the middle of a kiss, but that was better than the awkwardness of trying to figure out how to breach the subject with them.

"We're definitely happy for you both, in any case," his mum continued. "Is it official? is it proper? Ron, you better--"

"Mum!" Ron exclaimed, embarrassed all over again, and already regretting his half-formed idea of answering all her questions. "If you must know, yeah, we're together-together. Hermione's my girlfriend. Now that's enough," he pleaded.

She smiled and came to Ron, patting his shoulder. "I was just making sure, Ron. I had been hoping this would happen for a while now; you have been so in love with her for years. I'm glad something came out of it, is all."

He rolled his eyes. "Mum, stop, will you?"

"C'mon, let's go, dear," his dad said, taking his wife from the arm and pulling her away. Maybe he had taken pity on him. "Goodnight, kids."

They left the room and went up the stairs, probably to their room. Hearing their vanishing steps, Ron cleared his throat, trying to decide how to talk to Hermione about the whole thing. Giving up, he simply said, "sorry about that."

"It's all right, don't worry about it."

"It was a bit awkward," he insisted.

He felt her squeezing his hand, giving him a smile, making him feel completely comfortable again. "Don't worry about it. They were going to find out sooner or later, and knowing your mum..."

"Yeah, of course," he said, biting the inside of his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling at all that her phrase suggested.

They looked at each other for a moment, and he finally gave up and fully smiled at her. She smiled back. He let go of her hand and lifted his arm invitingly, so that she would rest her head on his shoulder. She seemed to appreciate the gesture and cuddled into his side, shifting a bit to find a comfortable position. Ron slowly wrapped his arm around her side, slightly squeezing her to him, aware of how amazed it still made him feel to be able to do it.

"So? Two days into this, and I'm pretty happy to say that we're doing better than I thought. No fighting yet!"

Hermione laughed, her body movements slightly rocking him. "Maybe we have changed. Maybe we're more mature?"

"Mmmhh..." Ron pretended to consider. "Nah," he said, "I don't think we've matured, because I don’t think our bickering has to do with being mature; we just enjoy the squabbling. It’s like a sport, isn’t it? That’s how we are. So maybe we're just in that honeymoon period they talk about, too happy to be together to bicker about the little things."

"Too busy snogging, too," Hermione said, pinching his side.

"Not really, we're not snogging now, are we? We are talking."

"So you don't want to snog?"

"Oh, yeah, I do," he said, starting to move to reach her mouth, but she kept him in place with a hand to his chest.

"No, wait. I'm too comfortable. We'll get to the snogging, for sure. I'm just happy we're talking, too. I always enjoyed our conversations."

Only slightly disappointed, Ron went back to resting comfortably on the sofa, Hermione snuggled against him. "We talked a lot, and yeah that was great and all, but I'm very glad that snogging is an option now, too. And cuddling. I'm liking this, too."

"Good," she said. "I wouldn't want to miss out on our friendship, just because we can now snog, too."

Ron looked to the crown of her head, knowing her well enough that he knew Hermione had meant a lot more than the words she had chosen to say. He wondered for a moment if he wanted to go that route and get her to talk about whatever she had been thinking, but finally decided to let it go. He went for something lighter, something nicer, something about how unbelieving he still was sometimes, when the awareness that they were officially together hit him, like it did a few times a day.

"You know, I thought you'd feel smaller in my arms," he finally said out of the blue, after briefly thinking back to all those times when he had longed to be with her like this.

"Oookaaay," she stretched out the word. "Is that good or bad?"

"It just is. You're rather short, aren't you? So when I imagined us like this, I always thought you'd feel smaller."

"Ron, I am  _ not _ short. I'm average. So don't put your foot in your mouth, or this  _ might _ become our first fight."

"Average?" He incredulously asked.

"Average," she insisted, the word clearly containing a warning.

Ron hesitated only for a moment, before adding, "on the lowest possible side of average, maybe..."

"That's still average!" she exclaimed, tickling his side, so that he squirmed to get away from her. "It's  _ you _ who can't claim being average! You're  _ so _ tall! So technically, you're the one to blame for our height difference!"

Wheezing, he tried to get away but couldn't. "Stop, stop, all right, it's all my fault," he begged as she slowed down her attack. "No, wait. If I'm a giant, and I can't blame you for being goblin-sized, then what that means is that we're even!"

"Goblin--Ron!" She complained, and he laughed. This time he was ready for her attack, so he simply took her wrists and moved her hands away from him. She got on her knees and fought with all her might, now using the weight of her body to her benefit.

"Tell me I'm not too short!" She was saying, still fighting. She then changed strategies, so that she now pulled at his hands instead of pushing, trying to get him to release her wrists. Ron felt himself losing his balance, his centre of gravity suddenly shifting dangerously forward, too fast for him to find his centre again. His knees fell to the floor with a thump, making the floor shake with a slight quake, his body following Hermione's. Before he knew what was happening, she had fallen on her back on the sofa as the forces at play changed, her hands going now above of her head, his hands still holding her wrists. His knees had shifted on the floor as soon as he had fallen so that one was a little ahead and to the side of the other, his legs against the front of the sofa. His body was bent down and slightly twisted at the waist, the top half of him mostly aligning with Hermione’s torso. They were face to face, looking into each other's eyes, waiting to see how the other would react, softly panting. Ron felt the nervousness, the pull on his lower abdomen, the awe at being so close to Hermione's pink face. He slowly released the air he was holding. 

"I never thought our height difference would be a problem," he assured her in a deep, soft voice. "It definitely isn't a problem right now, either."

"The difference is not so much that we can't manage to kiss, or even dance together," she agreed in a small voice.

"I'm sure it won't get in the way of… of anything," he concluded. 

This time, when Hermione tried to pull her hands away from his, he let her. He stayed where he was, kept in place by an invisible force despite the awkward position. She lifted her hands to his face, running her fingers through his hair, interlacing at his nape as she pulled him to her.

He went. He bent lower and closed his eyes, putting all his attention on the way his lips first sensed hers, the soft pressure of her mouth under his. The kiss began slow, perhaps to savor it with their heightened senses. The blood still flowed freely and fast in his veins, but now for different reasons. They had gotten to the snogging, all right.

It was a thrill to realise that he was kissing Hermione as she laid back, knowing that it was close enough to how he imagined it would be if he were laying right next to her. Horizontally. Like if they were in bed. Their kiss evolved, so that it now was deep and frantic.

Even as a simple thought, the image of them together like that was too exciting to contain. He hadn't lied the night before when he told her he wanted it all with her, even if it took them a while to get there. He knew he wanted to let her set the pace because, if it was up to him, things were going to progress very quickly between them. In the conflicting thoughts half-forming in his brain, he felt her pulling him closer, the awkward angle in which he was almost enough to take him out of the rhythm they were getting into. "I need to..." he said, interrupting himself by giving her another kiss, "do you mind if I..." he said, putting one of his hands on her hip and softly pushing her back on the sofa to suggest that she moved back to make room for him.

"Yeah, I mean, no," she replied, her voice coming out in a breath. She reached behind her and moved a few pillows, throwing them to the feet of the sofa. She scooted back and Ron climbed onto the it. They were on their sides, again face to face. Ron didn't think twice, his head felt like filled with a dense fog. He reached forward and kissed her again.

She responded enthusiastically, immediately erasing any thoughts that maybe she didn't want it as much as he did. He put his hand on her hip again, as he had just done it before and it seemed a safe place. If their frantic kisses were causing his hand to travel up her hip to comfortably rest on her waist, casually lifting her shirt a bit so that most of his hand was touching skin, that was just an unintentional benefit.

She must have approved, for her own hand reached under his arm to rest on his waist, her fingers grabbing onto him as if she were trying to get a fistful of him. Content at this new achievement --horizontal snogging, check. Touching a new patch of skin, check-- he didn't try anything else. She didn't, either. They simply kissed, comfortable with each other, as if this had always been a part of their friendship. Perhaps the strangeness of being together like this was finally over, and now they would simply reach for each other in the certainty that it was all right, they were together, and this was natural.

Still, a small part of Ron was not completely in the moment, as something was nagging him from the back of his mind. A tiny part, definitely a mere morsel, had been paying enough attention to their environment for him to hear the noise of people coming down the stairs.

He stopped mid-snog. "Someone's coming," he told her, and they quickly moved apart from each other. As the double set of steps resounded above on the first floor, Ron sat up on the sofa next to a now-sitting Hermione. As the steps came down to the ground floor, Hermione was back to cuddling onto Ron's side, her head on his shoulder, as if they had not been having a serious snogging session on that very sofa.

Ron's dad and George appeared from behind them, on their way to the kitchen.

"We're going to make some tea," his dad announced. "Would you like some?"

Ron cleared his throat. "No, dad, thanks."

He and George continued toward the kitchen, apparently oblivious to Ron and Hermione's overly innocent face.

"I'm  _ so _ glad this old house makes noises at the smallest thing," Ron commented, not wanting to imagine how his dad would have reacted when it wasn't a simple, innocent kiss that he witnessed between them.

"I know," she replied, her hand lying on his chest. "Your heart is beating really fast," she added in a very low voice.

"No wonder, after kissing you like that," he said. "Maybe it's good they interrupted us. You were just saying how you wanted to talk, and then, all of a sudden, it's  _ nope, let's snog _ ."

Hermione laughed. "I guess we can't help it."

"I guess we can't," he agreed, dropping a soft kiss on the crown of her head.

"I just don't want to lose the other part, you know? The ability to talk to each other. I know we've had our ups and downs with that, but I think that... well, if we mean to make this work between us, we need to do more than snogging."

"Hermione, where is that coming from? We still can talk to each other," Ron said, starting to get concerned by her tone and her insistence on the topic.

"Oh, yeah, of course, you're right."

Her sudden agreement made him suspicious. That was not like her. "Hermione? What's going on in your head?"

"Nothing. Forget it. I know we'll be fine."

"Hey," he squeezed her against him. "You know, it's a bit of a double standard if you say we need to talk, and then you don't speak up when something is clearly bugging you."

"All right, you win," she sighed after she took a moment to fight with herself. "I'm sure it's nothing. It's something you mentioned in passing this morning, and it just stuck in my mind."

"Hermione, you know me. I don't know half the things that come out of my mouth," he commented, slightly afraid he had said something hurtful or downright stupid without knowing.

"That's not true," she said, and he detected annoyance in her voice, although he was not sure what exactly was making her feel like that. "You're more eloquent that you give yourself credit for."

"And yet, I would not think to use such a word as  _ eloquent _ ."

"That has nothing to do with making good arguments."

"Are we bickering?"

"Yes!"

"Are you doing this so that I don't ask you again what has been bothering you?"

"Ugh, Ron," she said, taking in a gulp of air and holding it in for a few moments. She let it out slowly, as if trying to control herself.

He bent his head forward to briefly peek at her face, to try to read her. He decided to let her figure out what she wanted to say. By this point, he was sure he had made his point: she needed to open up to him.

"Look, I didn't want to speak about this. I know it's stupid. I know it makes no sense. I don't even know what, or why, but..."

"...but?" he prodded, wanting her to get to the point so that he could tell her he was sorry, whatever it was that had made her feel like that.

"But," she continued, "you talked about Lavender and it reminded me how much you two snogged in the beginning and then how that relationship failed and it made me think that there has to be more than snogging so I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't let our friendship go on the backburner because now we can snog, you know?" she said quickly in a never ending sentence that Ron wasn't completely sure he had fully followed.

He furrowed his eyebrows in concentration, completely forgetting to look for ways to say sorry and make things get better quickly. 

"Soooo," he elongated the word, "you think that snogging can make our relationship fail?"

"I... no, I suppose that's not right. As long as we also do other things. You know, build our relationship on more than snogging."

Ron let out a frustrated sigh. If it hadn't been dangerous territory, he would have made a joke around the idea of how it almost sounded like she wished his relationship with Lavender had not failed. He had enough presence of mind to know that was too risky and downright stupid of him.

He felt Hermione wanting to move away from him, but he squeezed her to him again, this time silently trying to keep her close to him. She stayed cuddled up to him, and Ron reached for her hand on his chest for emphasis, taking the initiative this time to interlock their fingers.

"Hermione," he began, deciding how to proceed to make a good, real, mature conversation out of this. "We  _ already _ have a relationship built on more than snogging. We started building our relationship in--when did I meet you? 1991? It took us a bloody long time, with fucking  _ agonizingly small _ steps, to get here. And each of those steps helped to build what we have. At least that's how I see it," he added.

Hermione let out a contented sigh, as she burrowed her head deeper into Ron's shoulder.

He knew he had made his point again. He doubted the benefit of adding the rest of what he was thinking, but decided to go for it anyway. With some luck, this would be the only time that he would need to tell her this.

"Hey," he said this time, to get back her attention. "Don't compare what we have to what little I had with Lavender. Honestly, there's nothing in common. What you and I have... well, I really think we lucked out. We have so much more going for us right now than the usual couple when they start. We are best friends. I would like to think... I need to think... that we can figure how to take that friendship into everything else, as well."

"Ron?"

"Yeah?" he asked, nervous about what her reaction would be.

"I told you that you can make incredibly good arguments."

"You want to spend the night?"

"I'd love to," she replied.

Later, after he had given her a kiss goodnight at Ginny's bedroom door and as he reached his own bedroom, barely registering the slight surprise at seeing Harry already sleeping in his cot, he thought again about what he had told her. Because even if he did want to think that all of it was true; even if he had told himself those very things a few times, there was still a small corner of his mind worrying about how long it would last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters. I hope you liked it, too! If you do, let me know, will you? Reviews are LIFE; if I wrote only for myself then I wouldn't be publicly posting, right? Your comments are how I know you like it and that I should keep going. Each one of them make me smile and make me giddy and make me want to post more and write more. In fact, I posted this new chapter in part because of an anonymous message I got on Tumblr ;)
> 
> I have to thank a few people for this chapter. First otterandterrier and jenahid for helping me make the description of Ron bending over Hermione on the Burrow's sofa /relatively/ clear; it was a mess before they helped me through it and if I had left it like I had written it originally, chances are Ron would have had a broken backbone and we don't want that; not in this story, anyway. I'd also like to thank anabelmellishphoto on Tumblr for her help with brit picking!


	19. One Step at a Time

"That was  _ really _ good," Hermione said, putting fork and knife on her plate and crossing her hands over her stomach. It was Sunday, and Ron had made dinner for her at her home—just as she had requested a few days before. "You will have to teach me how to cook."

Ron did his best to hide the giddiness caused by her words, trying to seem nonchalant. "It's a lot like potions. Just follow the instructions. Although Mum says that after a while, you get creative and don't need recipes anymore."

"I don't know if I can be that free with my cooking. What if I mess it up? No," she nodded her head, raising her eyebrows, in a gesture that indicated the issue was settled, "I think I would forever need a recipe."

He gently kicked her foot under the table. "You're not giving yourself enough credit," he said.

"And you, you are distracting me from giving you a compliment. Really, Ron, this meal was great!"

"It was decent," Ron argued, "but it was not  _ great _ . You forget I could taste it, too!"

"Oh, stop it. You know it was good."

"Maybe if you say it enough times I'll believe it," he teased, only half joking.

Hermione opened her mouth to answer when the ringing phone interrupted her. "Must be my parents," she explained. She got up from the table, giving him an apologetic look.

"Don't worry," he motioned her to go, "I'll take care of the dishes. Full service tonight!"

Hermione gave him a thankful smile as she reached the phone and answered the call.

He quickly got to work, thankful that those weeks after the battle when he was taking charge of the cleaning had him proficient at house chores. He skillfully maneuvered pots, dishes, and cutlery, basking in the pride of having cooked a meal that Hermione had seemed to enjoy. He couldn't help but to image a somewhat distant future, a hazy date somewhere in a few years, where he would be living with Hermione and would be waiting for her to come home to a home-made dinner he had cooked just for her.

He was in the middle of imagining Hermione's arms around his neck, telling him how much she appreciated his thoughtfulness, when he heard his name. Hermione was talking about him to her parents... and he couldn't stop himself from listening.

"Ron, the same one, yes... no, only him… because he's my friend... yes, it's been great to reconnect with everybody, now that we're working together and everything..."

Ron's efficiency severely dropped at her words.

Friend? Did that mean she hadn't told her parents that they were together? And did he have a right to be upset about it?

* * *

 

Hermione hung up the phone, lifting two fingers to the space between her eyebrows to massage the spot. Even if things were better between her and her parents, she still got a slight stress-related headache when she talked to them, especially since stopping the pills. The fact that the conversation had lasted over twenty minutes only made the stress worse.

She got up and went to the kitchen, looking for Ron. She found him sitting on the eating nook, blindly looking to an empty spot on the table and with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked crestfallen.

"Ron? What's wrong?" She walked to him, lifting her hand to reach for him. She stopped herself when he lifted his eyes to her and she noticed his hurt. "Ron?" She repeated, confused.

"Do you care about us?" He blurted as if he had been holding the words inside for too long.

"What?" Hermione asked in a strangled voice, shocked by the question as much as his tone. There was anger in his words, which did nothing to mask the sadness in his eyes.

"Are you invested in us?" He asked again. "I need to know. Because I am, but if you're not, then I don't think it's going to work, this being together," he explained. He sounded defensive and ready for a fight.

"Of course I'm invested!" Hermione replied, completely baffled and offended, getting ready for a fight herself. She was rooted in her spot, tempted to look around to see if someone had cast a spell on Ron to change his mood, somehow. "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with  _ me _ ?" He incredulously repeated, leaning forward in his seat. "Why haven't you told your parents that we're together?"

"Oh, that?" She waved it off, dismissive in her irritation. She had thought he couldn't hear her, though he evidently had. "I don't want to give them reason to create more of a distance between us, that's all."

"Why are you acting like this doesn't matter?" He asked, raising his voice in a familiar way that told her he was indignant. "You're hiding me from your parents and you think it's all right?"

"I'm not  _ hiding _ you!" She replied, doing her best to not roll her eyes at him. She knew he wouldn't react nicely to it. "I'm just waiting for a better time to tell them."

"And when will that be?" His voice dripped of contempt.

"I don't know yet."

"Then you  _ are _ hiding me, nevermind what you want to call it."

"No, I'm not! I told them you are here. Even if I said you are only a friend, I know they must be suspecting. They suspected years ago, I know they are suspecting now."

"If they suspect, then why don't you just tell them?

"Because you're a wizard, Ron."

Ron lifted his hands in front of him in a gesture full of defeat and confusion. "You are not making any sense, Hermione," he asserted in a voice that rang heavy with irritation.

"How can you say that?" she demanded, stung. "Didn't I tell you in my letters that my parents want nothing to do with magic? I meant it. They didn't let me use magic at all while I was there. I expect they would be upset if they knew how much magic I have been doing in this house since I came back. I'm sure they will still be upset if I use magic when I'm close to them once they return. I thought... I thought that if they knew I'm with you, they would be upset because, well, you can do magic. Because magic has been all you've known, all your life. I think they will feel that being with you pulls me even deeper into the life of a witch, and they don't want to hear that, just yet."

He still looked cross, if only a bit less so. She knew because his eyes had softened a bit, even if his breathing was still being fueled by rage. "Then the problem is that I'm a Pureblood? That Muggle life is mostly a mystery to me?"

"No, Ron!" she hit her thigh with her hand in frustration. He may be feeling a bit better, but he wasn't letting go of the fight just yet. "The problem is that they don't want to hear anything that reminds them that I am a witch!"

"That still doesn't make any sense, Hermione. I know you told me they mistrust magic and all, but, really? I thought things were better? How long are you going to have to hide your life and your magic from them?"

"Things  _ are  _ better, but they’re not  _ fine. _ I just need to be careful for a little while longer, only," she replied, hoping to appease him. She knew it was a delicate topic, and that she would probably be furious herself if it had happened the other way around. The thing was, Ron wasn't in her situation, and he needed to understand that. "I have been back for two weeks; you and I have only been together for one. I just want to... to be able to make sure my parents won't have a problem with us being together. If I let them suspect for a while but I don't confirm anything, then they'll have time to get used to the idea without me having to confront them about it."

Ron's eyebrows curved high in astonishment. Most of the fury now leaving his face, he then slowly nodded his head from side to side. He took in a deep breath that he slowly released through his long nose. "That's barmy."

"It may be," she admitted, finally going to him and sitting next to him on the bench.

"Isn't it better to just say what you mean? What kind of family thinks that's normal communication?"

"Mine. But I know my parents. I think it'll work."

Ron sighed and crossed his arms, looking down and slightly away from Hermione. She softly elbowed him. "Are we all right?"

He shrugged, turning his face to a more direct angle without fully looking at her yet. "Yeah, I guess. I just don't like it."

"If you think about it, it's the same thing you did," she argued, this time trying to make her voice a bit more placating. "You let your parents realise that we are together; you didn't tell them."

"That's different!" He claimed, finally looking at her. "We had only been together for like a day, and I did mean to tell them! They just beat me to it."

"I  _ do _ mean to tell my parents, Ron," she reasoned. "I just want them to get used to the idea of you first."

"I still don't like how that sounds. What am I, a kind of freak?"

She laughed. "To them, you are. They're Muggles, remember. And, in a way, aren't they freaks to you, too? You didn't know any Muggles before them, did you?"

A reluctant half of a smile broke on his face. "All right, all right," he conceded, looking down again to his lap as he rubbed the palms of his hands on his trousers, up and down on his thighs. "I get your point."

"Good," she replied, placing her hand on top of one his, now immobile on his leg. "I'd say we navigated our first fight pretty well, all things considered."

He scoffed, but he turned his hand to grab hers. "Yeah, I think we did."

"We  _ are _ okay, aren't we?"

He looked at her again and nodded his head yes. She gave him a peck on the lips.

"I hope you stop thinking I'm not invested in our relationship," she insisted, furrowing her eyebrows reproachfully. "Honestly, it's a bit offensive, because I am and hearing you doubt it was not pleasant."

"I know, I know. I shouldn't say stuff like that. I don't want to put ideas in your head, either," he joked. "It's only... I just had too much time to think before I could talk to you about it, and not enough time to think of a way out of my own argument."

"But what could you possibly think that would make you believe I'm not invested in us? Didn't I tell you, just a few days ago, that I want our relationship to work?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but quickly closed it again. Curiously, she could almost see the decision not to say anything cross his eyes. "You're right," he deflected, "I forgot. I'm sorry. I ended up ruining dinner didn't I?"

"Don't change the subject," she demanded, wanting to know what he was hiding. "I know you meant to say something just now."

"What do you mean?" he feigned innocence. "I thought the subject was dinner?"

"You know exactly what I mean. I know you too well, Ronald Weasley. I can read you like a book, and you know books are my thing."

He rolled his eyes at her comment, to then close them and purse his lips in consideration.

"All right, if you insist,” he hesitantly conceded as he opened his eyes. “I just don't think I should... rather, I don't think it's a nice thing to ask..."

He looked at her again, eyes blue and direct, and this time she saw hesitation clouding them. It made her nervous.

"I mean, it's not the kind of thing you ask people..." he continued, obviously still trying to make up his mind about it. “I… I haven’t thought this thing through. Maybe I should before I say anything else?”

"I'm not people, I'm your girlfriend," she asserted, hoping she wouldn't regret that she had pushed him to talk. “You made me talk the other day, when I was afraid that kissing you all the time could end up ruining our relationship. You proved me wrong and I’m glad for it, because it made me worry less. Let me do the same for you. I know how you get sometimes.”

“But, Hermione, it’s not the same,” he insisted, ruffling his hair with his free hand.

She did not say anything this time. She only looked at him, hoping to convey with her silence that she was waiting for him to speak. Again, she dearly hoped that she wouldn’t regret pushing him to speak.

He sighed, evidently not convinced he should say what was on his mind, but still humouring her.

"While I was waiting for you to finish your call, I was busy thinking, right? Trying to figure out why you wouldn't tell your parents that we're together. Seems my brilliant brain could only come up with one option, and it was that you... well, that you are not really that into me…”

“I gathered that,” Hermione pressed, trying to figure out what was really making him think that. “I  _ am _ into you, if that helps.”

“So you like me?”

“Yes, Ron, I like you! Why else would I be with you? Honestly, this is ridiculous. Didn’t I tell you in my letters that I wanted to be with you? Why on earth would I do that if I didn’t mean it?”

“I… I don’t know. Uhm… pity?”

“Pity?!” She asked incredulously, her voice shrill even to her own ears.

“I… guess not. Well, that--that’s good. I mean, it’s not like it made sense to me, or not too much. You kissed me during the battle and I suppose you wouldn’t think you needed to do more than that…”

“Ron, you’re mental,” she asserted, not knowing even where to begin to argue him out of such horrendous notions.

“Hey, that’s not fair! How am I supposed to know that you feel something for me, if you haven’t said anything?”

“Of course I have said I do!”

“No, you haven’t! And, I mean... what happened was that… well, I  _ have _ said twice that I—that I'm in love with you, and not once have you mentioned anything--of the sort. It makes me think that, well, that you're not there yet… and that's fine! Really. I can wait.”

“Ron…” she tried to stop him, to apologize, to tell him what he needed to hear. But now that he had finally opened up, it seemed that he couldn’t stop, even as he only came up with the words in the moment and didn’t always make sense.

“I mean,” he continued, looking at the floor again, pulling at a loose thread from a slit on his jeans, “not everyone st--starts their relationship being in love with the other from the beginning and I s’pose that it can just grow slowly… I’ve been thinking about it a bit, lately, and it does make me feel a bit... you know... Things. Bad things,” he tried to clarify, but became silent as he appeared to think through what he had just said. Finally he added, “like you are going to want to end this at some point soon and there's bloody little I can do about it."

Hermione sighed and readied her answer. She almost spoke up, but he continued without her needing to prompt him, seemingly still needing to say more. By now he had torn the thread of fabric he had been playing with, and had forced a second strip to pull at. “I know that I have no right to ask if you're in love with me. You don’t ask that kind of thing, and that’s what I meant earlier, right? And I guess... I know… If you need me to, I can wait until you feel the same way and you can say it back. Just... I just hope we can stay together long enough for that to happen," he finished, his voice soft and scared.

Hermione's throat closed and her heart beat fast in her chest, too many feelings fighting for dominance and sending her body to a frenzy. What should she heed first, what should she do first? She wanted to hug him and protect him, so that he wouldn't be scared anymore. She wanted to thank him for opening up and being vulnerable, to tell him that he was so brave for saying everything he did. She wanted to talk sense into him, so that he would stop thinking that she would break up with him. She wanted to kiss him, and tell him that she loved him just as much.

She got up and turned, maneuvering so that she could sit on his lap. She rotated her torso and reached up to grab his head, her fingers swimming in his hair. She saw his eyes fill with shock, excitement, and confusion before she brought him close to her, pressing her lips hard against his. Almost immediately, his hands reached around her waist and his long arms enveloped her, his hands open against her back, pulling her closer to him. She tried to first tell him how she felt in her kiss.

"Technically," she said after a while, "you never told me you love me before. You  _ wrote  _ that you're in love with me, and I'd say that's not quite the same."

"Are you really going to get hung up in technicalities? Besides, I didn't deny it when my mum said I have been in love with you for years. That makes it two times."

"That hardly counts!"

"All right, then I'll say it again: I love you. There, officially, twice. Don't worry," he added, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. "I know I didn’t make much sense before, but… when all is said and done, the things is, you simply don't have to say it back."

"Why wouldn't I?" she asked, kissing him again. She touched his forehead with hers for a moment, before lifting her eyes again to him. "I love you, too. I really do," she added, seeing the way his face cleared from all the marks left by their argument and his doubts, and the way it was all replaced by wonder.

"You do?" He questioned, a big smile slowly taking a hold of his face.

She nodded. "I love you. There, two for two."

"You're amazing," he declared, and kissed her until she forgot they had ever argued.

* * *

 

"I don't want to go home."

She knew he was just complaining about having to go back to the Burrow, but it made her realise how badly she wanted him to stay.

Standing on the patio where he had given her his letter the week before, kissing goodnight before he Disapparated to his house, she garnered her bravery and whispered, "then don't."

She could feel the way his body froze at her words.

"... You mean it?" He finally asked.

"Yes. We have slept together before; it shouldn't be that big of a deal, right?" She tried to look nonchalant, but knew she was failing. He looked as nervous as she felt. To compensate, she tried to rationalise the whole thing further. "There is nothing wrong in me wanting to be close to you. We're just sleeping, after all. It's always given me so much comfort. I just hate saying bye to you..."

"You are nervous about it, too," he commented, confirming what she had sensed.

"Well, yes!" She confessed, deciding to not pretend anymore. "It's different now, isn't it? We're together. We can kiss. And kissing can lead to other things."

"I did ask you to stop me if things went too far. That still stands, Hermione. I will try to not go too mad, but if I do, stop me. This can be all about just being together, close. It doesn't have to be about anything else."

"You can just Apparate to your room, get some clothes and your things, and come here. They knew you were going home late tonight, and they expect you to go out early so that you can be at the shop. Nobody has to know."

"Harry will know."

"He won't say anything."

"You're right, he won't. Not to my parents, anyway." His hands locked behind her lower back, her arms loosely holding onto his. Her hands grabbed his arms where they rested. "Are you sure?"

"Ron, it's just sleeping."

"Right, right."

"You don't want to stay? You can say it, I just thought--"

"No, no, I do want to stay. Some of my best memories are from the few times we spent the night together. It's just... You're right, it does feel different now. And we're not even close to your bed yet."

"Oh, god, my bed, yes." she became flustered; somehow the realisation they would be sleeping in  _ her _ bed hadn't crystallized in her mind. "Uhm... Is that a yes, then?"

"Do you really think there's any chance I could possibly say something different than yes?"

She giggled. "I guess not."

"All right," he said, letting go of her. I will just Disapparate from here and Apparate right back here. Then I... then what should I do?

"Just come up to my bedroom. You've been there before."

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, years ago, when I didn't even know you can do anything else there besides sleeping," he said self-deprecatingly.

"We  _ are _ sleeping," she insisted. "At some point," she added, feeling herself blush.

"Good Merlin," he said. "Be right back," he said, leaning down to kiss her. "I love you," he added.

"Love you, too," she replied, and saw him smile before he Disapparated away.

* * *

 

Hermione skipped up to her bedroom, her heart racing. She didn't even try to deny it; she knew her heart wasn't reacting to the rush upstairs but to the fact Ron was returning in a minute, to spend the night with her. In her bed. Like they had before, but not quite the same way.

She threw the pajamas she had used the night before to her laundry bag and chose something different and fresh to wear. Both old and new were Ron shirts. She added her own old pajama shorts, putting them on quickly. Then she stepped in the bathroom to brush her teeth, expecting Ron to arrive any minute now.

She went back to her bedroom, leaving the door ajar. She stood in the centre, looking at her bed, standing still except for her hands, which she was wringing together. After a couple of minutes, she reached for her wand and cast a spell to make her bed slightly bigger; not too much, just enough to make it comfortable for a large man like Ron. She also duplicated her pillow and put one next to the other. She then left her wand in her bedside table, straining to hear if Ron had returned yet. He hadn't. Impatient, she decided to get in her bed.

She had started to wonder if he'd ever come back when she heard him coming up the stairs.

"Hermione?" He asked, gently pushing the door open.

"Yes," she said, already slightly breathless.

He came into the bedroom and stood there, a bag hanging from one of his shoulders. "Hi. I... I decided to go ahead and change before coming back. I already brushed my teeth, too," he announced as an afterthought.

She just nodded her head, to indicate she had heard him. "Me, too."

"Okay, all right," he said, dropping his bag on the floor and coming closer to the bed. He cleared his throat. "Should I...?"

She reached for the covers and pulled them back, so that he could get in with her.

He folded his long body, putting his legs under the blankets and then pulling the covers up to his shoulders. He wiggled a bit until he found a comfortable position, on his side facing her. She turned to her side, as well, and locked eyes with him.

"Hi," she said, playful and anxious, needing to say something.

"Hey," he replied, a spark in his eyes.

"Why are we so nervous?"

"I don't know," he replied, his hand blindly looking for hers under the covers. When he found it, he interlocked his fingers with hers; they rested them on the mattress. She lifted her free hand to his hair, running her fingers through the still-damp strands.

"You showered, too. No wonder you took a while to come back."

"I didn't want to... you know... smell bad or sweaty or anything..." he explained, shrugging and looking shy.

She came closer to him, shamelessly taking a good sample of his hair's scent. "Mission accomplished. You smell divine," she said, and blushed at her own words. She hadn't meant to be so direct or to sound so silly. "Did anyone realise you were coming back here?" she asked to change the subject, but didn't miss his blush at what she had just said.

He snorted, his face changing and his mouth settling into a smirk. "Harry," was all he said.

"Did he say anything?"

"Not much. But the wanker implied that, since I was spending the night with you, he would spend the night with Ginny."

Hermione laughed. "I guess he's allowed to. You don't want to be a hypocrite, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's what he said; not with those words, but yeah. He said,  _ you can't complain, you're sleeping with  _ my  _ sister _ !"

"That's sweet," she commented, smiling. "I don't think he's ever told me he thinks of me as a sister. Had he told that to you, before?"

"Once," he said, his face serious for an instant. She was going to ask about it, but he continued talking. "Anyway, I left before he could say anything else. I know he won't rat us out even if only because it's convenient for him, too."

"No, he won't," she agreed. Neither added anything else, and the topic seemed to be forgotten.

They were in silence for a while, each with their own thoughts. She was distracted when he squeezed the hand he was holding, and lifted his free hand to place it on her waist, gently grabbing her over her shirt.

"This is getting better," he announced, smiling. "I'm not so nervous anymore."

"Me neither," she agreed.

"Good, then maybe I can kiss you without having things get weird between us."

"Oh," she said, pleased, noticing the wild flight of butterflies in her stomach. "Yes, I'd like that."

Smiling, he moved his hand around her waist to her lower back, where he opened his fingers as if to try to cover as big an area as possible. He pulled her to him just as he came closer to her, and Hermione's breath caught in her lungs at the gesture.

They kissed, the top of her head digging uncomfortably into her pillow to have the right angle. She barely noticed it, though, once his tongue touched her top lip. Suddenly hungry for him, she opened her mouth to invite him to do more. He did. Her hand clamped on his chest, grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

They kissed like that for a few moments, before he moved his body so that her natural reaction was to lay on her back. The top of his body was now over her, the weight of his chest pressing her ribs down onto the bed. The hands they had been holding were now under her pillow and next to her head, still grasping each other. They never stopped kissing.

His other hand had moved from her lower back to her waist again as they changed positions, and it now moved lower towards her hip. Emboldened by the rush of blood through her veins, she let go of his shirt and traveled from his chest to his back, where she curled her fingers and ran them down alongside his back bone, in what she thought was a gentle manner. She realised she had been rougher than she had thought when she heard him groan.

"Sorry," she said, flattening her hand on his back.

"No, no, I liked it," he assured her before returning to her mouth.

She did it again, now that she knew he had enjoyed it. Once her hand reached down to the elastic of his pajama bottoms, she began to move it up before suddenly stopping for a moment; she had felt his shirt scrunching up so that two of her fingers had scratched skin. Without giving it a second thought, she lifted his shirt and let her hand roam up his back.

He groaned again. "Bloody hell, Hermione," he growled before he let go of her hand and maneuvered them so that she was now the one half on top of him. "Kiss me again," he commanded, and she did.

His arms now free, he enveloped her again and squeezed her to him. Then he let go, allowing for one of his hands to explore her back while the other went back to her hip. He splayed his fingers, so that with their length they were technically reaching for her arse. He squeezed once, softly, and then again, slightly more aggressively.

"You're not stopping me," he said, breathless.

"I know," she replied, breathless as well.

"You have to, though."

"Why?" She asked. She honestly thought they weren't really doing much more than they had before.

"Because..." he began, but hesitated. She saw him swallow, before he moved his hand to cover part of her bottom.

"Oh," she softly exclaimed, and saw him blush. She knew she was blushing, too.

"Is this okay or...?"

She nodded her head in affirmation, and he responded by kneading the soft patch of muscle under his hand.

"Still all right?" He insisted. And she found it still was. She nodded again.

He closed his eyes as if concentrating, and a smile slowly crept to his face.

"What?" She asked. "Not much there, is there?"

"I have no complaints," he said as he opened his eyes. "Besides, I think you're still a bit underweight."

"I think I technically reached a normal weight, Ron."

"Maybe. But still less than what you looked like at Hogwarts. And I liked what I got to see, back then. Much better than my scrawny body; I'm afraid I don't have much to offer, in the manner of grabbing and squeezing."

"You're beautiful to me," she whispered, and was happy to see him get shy.

"Just wait until you see me shirtless," he joked, but he realised he was implying they would get there and got flustered. "I mean, when-- that is--"

She laughed. "It's fine, Ron." Feeling playful and more comfortable with him touching her arse, she took his other hand and put it on her backside, too, for emphasis.

"Oh, all right, then." He returned to the kneading of her flesh.

"Why the smile, then?" She asked, and saw the confusion in his eyes for a moment before he realised what she meant.

"I was just thinking, if you had told me a couple of years ago that we would be on your bed like this, and that you would let me touch you like this, I would have died a little in anticipation."

"And here we are now," she smiled.

"Here we are," he agreed, "and you're not stopping me.”

"I will stop you if we do something I'm not comfortable with. I am not... I'm not ready to do all of it, yet," she said as she looked down to his chest, unsure of what the dos and don’ts were for her, when they got down to the details.

"That's fine, really. It’s just… different, you know? It was easier when I  _ knew _ I couldn't do anything. Now there is  _ some _ things I can do, and the line dividing the dos and don’ts is too bloody blurry. I don't want to scare you, but blimey, I can't help myself. I… keep on thinking… keep on wanting to be close to you, as close as I can."

“Being this close is nice,” she commented, resting her head on his chest. “Do you… uhm…” she hesitated, biting her lip for a moment as she thought through what she wanted to ask. “Do you think you’d be willing… rather, that we’d be okay focusing on… you know, take some time to just explore? Get comfortable doing these things?”

“Yeah, yeah, that works for me,” he eagerly responded. “I reckon… I mean, I know I said I was ready, and I am, really… but… but I’m also... nervous, if I’m honest,” he added. After a few moments had passed, he finished by whispering, “that’s a lot easier to admit than I thought.”

“You are?” she asked, glad to realise she wasn’t the only one feeling that way.

She felt him shrug. He lifted one of his hands to play with her hair. “It’s kind of important, to me. To know… to know it will-- I mean that it might--you can change your mind--that  _ it  _ might happen with  _ you _ , I really… bollocks, I don’t know what I am saying.”

“I think I understand,” she whispered, wanting to reassure him. “It’s the same for me.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing, right?” He continued as if he hadn’t heard Hermione, the worry stealing his attention. “I have a feeling I’ll completely cock it up, and ruin it or scare you or something. I don’t want that,” he finished.

“But it’s normal, Ron. We’re… inexperienced, really. Even I can say that it’s probably not the kind of thing you can learn from reading!”

He laughed. “And we both know  _ I _ haven’t been reading about it. Or… not much… not besides these magazines that Seamus brought one year… and… anyway, you get the point, I’m sure.”

She smirked, even if he couldn’t see it. “Of course. But you know what I mean, right? I’d like to think that… that we can, you know… learn together?”

“Yeah, exactly!” He agreed, and she could hear the relief and excitement in his voice.

"How about we plan for it? We can set a few rules," she proposed.

"Of course," he said, and she could hear the mirth in his voice. She rolled her eyes. "What do you have in mind?"

"How about we set a date? Before we get to that date, we have to assume we're not going to do more than just exploring and learning what we like. That way we don't have to always be wondering how far we'll go."

"Sounds good. And will you tell me when I'm doing something you like? And when it's not working for you, too. Or if I'm going too far, or too fast, or whatever."

"I promise. Will you do the same?"

"Yeah," he said, squeezing her bottom to stress his words.

"What date should we set?"

"I don't know," he replied. "I don't know how long it'll take us to get anywhere close to being ready for that. Maybe we can set two dates? Let's see how far we've gone in two weeks, and we use that as a measure. Then we can decide on a date for... you know. Deciding when we might be ready to do everything else. Or maybe two weeks is too soon?"

"Why, you want to wait longer?" She teased, smiling to herself.

"No, no. I mean, I don't know." She felt him shrug under her. "I guess it doesn't matter. In two weeks we'll just be talking about how much longer we want to wait."

"Sounds good to me," she sighed, lifting her head again to look at him. "Deal?"

"Deal," he said. He had kept his hand in her hair as she had moved up, and now used it to guide her back close to his mouth. "For now, we can keep on kissing, yes?"

"Yes," she confirmed.

"With maybe a little groping over the clothes?"

She laughed. And she kissed him, and she returned the favor with her hands on his arse, and they kissed, and they did. But they did not explore further that night and were soon asleep next to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for a long note here… There's a tl;dr at the end if you want to just skip my verbosity.
> 
> Let me start with how happy it makes me that so many of you realised how big of a mistake it is for Hermione to stop the pills without proper professional supervision. I've said this before, but I'll say it again: do not take Hermione's actions in this story as medical advice! I wrote her doing what she's doing because I think it's plausible and helps with plot purposes. I do not endorse her actions. I actually tsk-tsked when I wrote that...
> 
> Next, thanks SO MUCH for all the lovely reviews I got! I don't know if it was because I actively requested that those who enjoy my story leave a review, mentioning that it's my only pay and all that, or it was simply that more people are finding it worth their time to let me know what they think of this story. Either way, each one of them mean a lot to me. 
> 
> Now, I have been meaning to post a new chapter for days, but I simply didn’t have enough time to do everything I need to do. I've been extremely busy, with such fun engagements as a 5-day long wedding and prepping for a trip abroad, among others. In fact, writing this A/N alone is stressing me out because I should be prepping for ALL THE THINGS that I have to prep for right now… but here I am, with a brand new chapter, is because I have no idea if I'm going to be able to post at all while I'm abroad. I'd schedule the posting of chapters if a) I had the time to do that and b) FFN allowed for such a thing (can't mess up my posting schedule by not posting simultaneously in both places!). Neither of those is a possibility so we have to leave it all to chance; let's hope I find the time to post. MAYBE, IF I come home at a decent hour tomorrow, and IF I'm done with all the packing and prep work for my trip before 8pm, then I'll post another chapter tomorrow. Wish me luck… 
> 
> TL;DR: Sorry I haven't replied to reviews; I will asap which might be a few weeks from now. I will try to post another chapter tomorrow if possible, because there's a good chance I won't be able to post at all during the next three weeks.


	20. Unsaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Anxiety Attack in the first section.

Ron woke up with a jolt when a loud noise to his left filled the air.

"Bloody hell, what's that?!" he exclaimed, readying himself to get up and fight whatever was attacking them.

A comforting hand on his shoulder calmed him almost immediately. Hermione. A smile appeared on his face, which grew as he felt her leaning across him to reach for the offending noise. He'd take any loud noise if it meant that he would feel Hermione on top of him like that first thing in the morning, every morning.

"Sorry," she said, "that's my alarm clock."

" _That_ 's your alarm clock? More like another torture device created by Muggles, I'd think,” he said as he looked at her, her short hair wild from sleep. Once the alarm had been silenced, she folded her extended arm between her and his chest, using it to lift herself up and look down at him. He loved the spark in her eyes. Absentmindedly and slightly out of breath, he added, “why don't you just use a magical alarm clock?"

"Because I grew up using this as my alarm clock, back when I went to Muggle school. I never changed it."

"Well, I'm awake now, I guess." He dramatically sighed, his right hand reaching up to rest on the curve of her lower back.  

"How did you sleep?" she asked. "Sleeping on a different bed is always difficult to adjust to, so I won't be offended if you tell me you weren’t comfortable."

"Hermione," he began, unknowingly giving her _a look._ The tips of his fingers lifted her shirt a smidge, and began softly rubbing the skin underneath. "I slept in _your_ bed, with _you_. We did _things_. I could not and will not complain." She laughed. "Besides," he continued, "that was the best night of sleep I've had in months, so except for the thing you call an alarm clock, I can't wait to repeat it soon."

"We will," she said sitting up on the bed, breaking the contact, "but I'm afraid we'll still need the alarm. We do have to make it to the shop at a decent time, don't we?"

He gave her an exaggerated sigh once more, sitting up himself and reaching for her face for a short kiss. "I suppose, yeah."

She gave him another peck and got out of the bed. "All right, let's do this. I'll go downstairs and get some tea going. Then I'll come back upstairs and use the bathroom, if that's fine with you?"

"Of course. I'll change and go downstairs."

She smiled to him and left the bedroom, leaving a slightly dazed Ron behind. It felt so natural, sleeping with Hermione and waking up next to her, and he truly couldn't wait until next time they did. Not only because of the touching and the kissing, but because just knowing they could do those things made sharing a bed so much better.  As he began changing his clothes, he thought back to how comforting it had been to feel her warmth through the night, her closeness making him feel like he could really relax again and _sleep_. And he had, and it had been wonderful.

He went out of her bedroom and down the stairs towards the kitchen, happily rested, thinking that he could make breakfast while Hermione got ready.

"Hey, what if I make--" he began, but stopped with a start when he saw her. "Hermione?" he asked, noting that she was holding a piece of parchment in one of her hands, the other one fisted between her breasts.

She lifted her face to him, and her paleness frightened him.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asked her as he took two strides to hold her by the shoulders. When she opened her mouth but stayed like that, now breathing fast, he moved to stand beside her in such a way that let him read the letter she had in her hand. He had only read a few sentences when she began to shake; he took the letter from her to read it, fearing the worst.

 

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_As I begin to write this letter, I realise that I did not have the opportunity to speak to you after the Battle of Hogwarts. Although a letter is an inadequate medium to express my gratitude for everything you have done for our world, I wish to do so anyway._

_As for the matter of contacting you at present, I inquired of your whereabouts in the Ministry after noticing your name wasn’t in the list I received of potential students that are to take up the Minister’s offer to join the Auror Department. It is my understanding that you have been out of the country for a few weeks, and you might not be aware of the school status. It is because of the respect I have for you and for the unique position that you occupy within our world, that I am writing directly to you instead of waiting for the official invitations to be Owled to their recipients in the following weeks._

_For that reason, it is my pleasure to inform you that, despite the extensive damage that the school suffered during the night of May the second, the Board of Directors have decided that we can and we should open our doors again to all students of age to attend Hogwarts, just as they would have if the War had not happened. Considering the special circumstances that surrounded the school during the past year, we have decided to include all students that did not finish their education due to the war, which of course includes you._

_With this letter, I hope to extend my invitation for you to join us, if you so desire, for our new school year. Due to the changes we are planning to incorporate into Hogwarts at the beginning of this term, we have been working hard with the future Head Boys and Head Girls to prepare for what is to come. In knowing that Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter have decided to pursue a most respectable plan to become Aurors, I have only left the position for Gryffindor Head Girl open to date, as I was hoping I could discuss my plan and my reasoning behind offering that position to you. To make the process easier, I would like to invite you to meet with me at the end of this week. Please let me know if we can schedule such a meeting, considering that I will be most pleased to work around your convenience._

_Looking forward to hearing from you,_

_Yours truly,_

_Headmistress McGonagall_

 

"I don't get it?" Ron began to say, confused as to what it was that had made Hermione react like that. McGonagall wanted Hermione to be Gryffindor Head Girl and she was not thrilled? He turned to look at her again, ready to question her and congratulate her and celebrate with her, when he saw that tears were streaming down her face. "Hermione!" he exclaimed this time, and instinctively stepped in to hug her, the letter now crumpled in one of his hands.

He wrapped his arms around her, his free hand cupping her head to encourage her to rest it on his shoulder. He heard her gasp, and thought that it was part of her crying until he heard it again... and again.

"Shhh, shhh," he tried to say, feeling stupid that he didn't know how to make her feel better. More gasps, deep yet short lived, and the coolness of what he realised was a wet patch growing on the fabric of his shirt. He could feel her ribcage inflating and deflating with her breathing, quick and demanding as if she had been underwater for far too long but couldn’t quite get her lungs to work properly. Her hands squirmed up between them, to finally grab two handfuls of his shirt right over his chest. "Uhm... It's okay to cry..." he insisted, at a loss and confused, feeling anxious himself at this strange and slightly scary way to cry.

He felt her pull out of his hug, so he loosened his arms around her to give her room. His hands were opened wide on her back now, the only way he felt he was capable of giving her support. Hers were still holding his shirt. He looked all over her face, trying to understand what was going on, terrified to realise that this was more than crying. He saw the letter fall down to the floor from the corner of his eye.

"I can't... I can't..." she tried to say, her own forced breathing getting in the way of her voice. "I can't... stop..."

Her voice was raspy now, coming low through her parted lips. She was pale and her eyes were open wide, her pupils big and dark and terrified.

"All right, I'll take you to St. Mungo’s," he decided, quickly panicking, needing to make sure she would be fine. He was certain now: this was not normal, this was dangerous.

"No... please..."

"Hermione, I don't know what to do and for once you can't tell me, so let me take you--"

"No," she insisted, and even though she couldn't do more than breath it out in between gasps, her face told him she was truly begging him not to. "Medicine... My drawer..."

"I'll go get it," he started to say, thankful to have something to do besides being scared out of his skull, grabbing her shoulders once in reassurance before taking a step away. She almost fell down, so that he was forced to hold her upright. "Bloody hell, Hermione!"

"I just... I’ll be… fine"

"I don't want to Apparate with you to your bedroom, not with you like this. This doesn't look good, Hermione, let me take you to the Healers, they..."

"Please... don't… ju-- just… summon it..."

"Hermione, c'mon, what you're asking is... I don't..." He tried to keep his wits with him as he felt her breathe more air than there was in the room, fighting images of the last time he had been this scared for her.

"Please... Really…"

The look in her eyes was more powerful than his fear. It took him only a second to realize that, as scared as he was, and as strange as what was happening to her was, she must have known what was happening to her and decided it wasn’t a life or death situation. He had to hope she was right. For now, he could only try to calm himself a bit to try and comfort her and keep her company through whatever she was going through.

He summoned her medicine and a glass from the cupboard. " _Aguamenti_ ," he intoned. He fought against the cap sealing the bottle that had come flying from her bedroom and, once he finally got it open, he took a pill and helped Hermione swallow it. She barely managed, but after a few tries, she was able to keep it down.

"Let's… stay… we can… wait…" she pleaded once more.

"All right, we'll stay, but please don't hate me when I yell at you for this... later, when I know you're fine," he finished, trying to joke himself into a more patient state of mind.

Her face lost an ounce of her concern, her eyes clearing enough to show him she was thankful. Not having to fight him to go to St. Mungo’s must have relaxed her, for she seemed to decide she didn’t want to stand anymore. He followed her as she crumbled down, managing to cross his legs on the floor and holding her on his lap.

* * *

 

The tingling in her hands was subsiding; the crampy feeling in her calves was now just a faint soreness. Still, Hermione's breathing was jolting and fast. She was still clinging to Ron's shirt, her head resting on the crook of his neck. His head rested on hers, his forehead on her hair, his arms still around her. Despite being a mix of limbs on the floor of her kitchen, Hermione knew it had been the best medicine for her, to have him hold her as she tried to get herself out of the anxiety attack. Yet it had taken her a long time, the fear that she would faint and lose consciousness too strong to simply relax, nevermind what her brain tried to do.

As her breathing came back to normal, mortification began to take dominance of her feelings. What would Ron think? Would Ron yell at her, after all, for doing this to him? Would Ron...?

Ron, not knowing the fear and shame that was setting in, had began to softly rock her in her place on his lap. It made her want to weep, this time in hopes that Ron understood.

"I'm sorry," she said between deep, uneven intakes of air, "and thanks. I feel better now."

"Good," he said, still rocking her. "When you're ready, you can tell me what happened." He must have felt her tense up, for he quickly added, "when you're _ready_ , though, we don't have to hurry."

"But we do, don't we? The shop..."

With a sigh, Ron wiggled a bit and reached for his wand, while keeping the other tightly around Hermione to keep her in place.

" _Expecto Patronum_ ," he intonated. "Ginny, I'm going to be late today. Please take care of the shop and George. Thanks," he said to the silvery terrier that had materialized in front of them. It ran around in a spiral, disappearing to find its recipient. Then he left his wand next to him on the floor, his now-free hand reaching for her thigh and rubbing on it comfortingly.

It was Hermione's turn to sigh. Her breathing was finally normal again, and an overwhelming need to explain to him started to take over.

"Ron," she hesitated, not knowing exactly what to say, but wanting to say something.

"Was that an attack? One of those you were telling us about the night we opened to the public?"

She closed her eyes in doubt. "Not really, sadly. I was hyperventilating, but it wasn't really one of the bad ones. I'm sorry."

"Stop saying you're sorry," he demanded, the first show of impatience trickling through his words. "I just don't know anything about it, and I need to understand."

"I can't explain it," she began, embarrassed. "As much as I hate to admit this, what is happening to me is not really rational. No matter how I try to control it, I fail."

"Then maybe we don't explain it, or try to control it. Maybe we just learn to cope."

She burrowed into his chest and he squeezed her in answer. "It helped that you were here. I think... I think that if I had been alone, it could have gotten worse."

"But what do we do when you're alone? As much as I wish I could be with you every minute of the day, I can't," he joked. "So what else can we do?"

"I don't want to take pills," she said automatically, hoping he wouldn't press her on the matter. "This is a mental health issue, so I should be able to control it mentally, shouldn't I?"

"Let me take you to St. Mungo’s," Ron said again. "Maybe the Healers will be able to help."

"I don't know..." Hermione replied, unconvinced. "What if they don't understand? What if all that happens is that, instead of taking Muggle medicine, I end up dependent on Wizard medicine?"

"Then you take the medicine," Ron said. "Wouldn't you take medicine, whether Muggle or not, if you had a cold?"

"Anxiety is more than a cold, Ron," she insisted. "A cold will be gone in a week. Anxiety might not," she argued, her frustration at her situation tainting her words. "Anxiety might last forever and then what do I do? Take medicine forever?"

"If you need to, yeah, you do!"

"Ron, you don't understand--"

"Maybe I don't, but do you? Who have you talked to about this? How do you know this is going to last forever?"

"Well, it might happen!"

"Or it might not. We don't know."

"You've helped George a lot," she continued to try to convince him. "Just by being there. Why can't you do the same with me?"

"Because I know George and I know he will just shut me out if I insist he takes care of himself. So I'm like a hawk on him even if he hates it, while we both pretend that's not what is happening. With you, though, I know that if I push you to take care of yourself, you might actually listen."

"Ron..."

"Please, humour me? Let's talk to someone, someone who knows about it, 'cause I'm not afraid to say I have no idea how to help you with this, no matter how much I want to. I was really scared there, Hermione, and, according to you, this is not even one of the worse things that could happen."

"I'm telling you, just being here helps. I can give you stuff to read on this, and--"

"I'd very much rather talk to someone than read about it, yeah? Much faster. I'll get it better if we do. There can be _more_ we can do and they might be able to explain it. I don't want to miss out on that, just because we're avoiding talking about it."

She still hesitated. She didn't want to seem weak. But in hearing Ron talk, she realised that even if someone could think she was weak for feeling like that, anyone could see she was being cowardly for not looking for help.

"All right. Let's go one of these days, and--"

"Now, let's do it now."

* * *

 

They held hands as they sat in the waiting room. On the way there, Ron had concocted a plan to help Hermione feel better, and was hoping it would work. So he was very impatient at the moment, silently cursing to himself for having to wait at all. He knew that the longer it took, the more Hermione would want to back out of their agreement. He looked at her, and noticed that even if she seemed resigned, she didn’t seem like she was going to fight him on this again.

Finally, a Healer in lime green robes called them in into a private room.

"Good morning, how can I help you?"

"Hi," Ron began, wanting to spare Hermione. "We'd like to ask you about a few things that are happening to us."

The Healer sat behind his desk and looked from one to the other, waiting for the question. When neither Ron or Hermione spoke, he gave them a comforting, knowing smile. "Don't worry, I know it can be intimidating talking to someone you don't know about personal things. Whatever you say here is confidential."

Ron looked at Hermione, who was looking at the floor. He was going to start talking, when the Healer gave a soft chuckle.

"If it's an issue of contraception or pregnancy..."

"No, no, none of that!" Ron was quick to clarify. "It has to do with things that happened in the war."

"Oh," the Healer said, his tone now much more serious. "How can I be of help, then?"

"I have serious problems falling asleep," Ron said. "And when I do, I often end up having nightmares that wake me up with a jump."

Ron sensed Hermione's quick reaction, lifting her head to look up at him. He glanced at her, quickly noting her round eyes before returning to the Healer.

"I see," he said. "How long is it taking you to fall asleep every night?"

"Most days I'm awake until early in the morning; then I sleep for about three to four hours I reckon. Sometimes I'll have nightmares. Sometimes, I feel like the nightmares follow me all day, if that makes sense. Once in a while I will fall asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow, though."

Hermione was still looking at him. She now squeezed his hand strongly. He didn't know if she meant it in support or thankfulness. She didn't know how it had been for him yet, so this was news to her, but he still hoped it was the latter.

"How long has this been going on?"

Ron shrugged. "Since the Battle of Hogwarts. It's been a long few weeks for me."

"Do you usually remember your nightmares? Are they related to the war?"

"I don't usually remember them, no."

"Well, that might be better. Have you tried any potions or anything to help with your insomnia?"

"Not really. I... I didn't really think of it, to be honest."

"Well, I can give you some of the medicine we are using for these cases. Sadly, there are many people out there who are struggling." He reached for a parchment pad to his side, its corner adorned with a shining seal, tiny specks of silver dust floating on a layer on top of it. "This is an official Healer Order. You can take this to the Potions and Draughts Department on the fifth floor and they will give you what you need," the Healer continued as he wrote on it. "It is a controlled substance, because it is really powerful and potentially addicting. The bottle's stopper is hollow, so you can use it as a measure. One stopper-full, twice a week max. _Max_ , I am stressing that. The idea is that it will help you recover and rest for the duration of your insomnia. You seem to be doing that on your own, it seems like, because you do have a few good nights here and there." He handed it to Ron. "Still, we all need our sleep. My name is on the seal on the corner of the parchment. If your sleeping doesn't get better by the time the medicine runs out--it should last you a couple of months--then come see me again. Wizardry is not very good at dealing with this type of things, but I'm Half-blood and I have a few tricks up  my sleeve, if you get my meaning," he smiled.

"These types of things?" Hermione asked, speaking for the first time. "What do you mean?"

"Psychological things. Sadly, there's a lot of misunderstanding with mental health among wizards, although Muggles are not necessarily better, I suppose. My mother is a mental health professional, though, so she's hammered a lot about of what she does into my head," he joked.

"About that..." Ron began, and squeezed Hermione's hand, this time to prompt her to talk. He dearly hoped his plan had worked, and that by talking about his issues first, Hermione would feel better about talking of hers.

The healer again looked from Ron to Hermione, waiting.

"Yes, well... I was wondering... uhm, do you happen to know what PTSD is?" She asked in a hesitant voice.

"Sadly, yes. We have been dealing with a few cases of that since the War. Although Wizards don't have a name for that, and we are only helping with the symptoms right now. Why do you ask?"

"Because... I have PTSD." Ron saw her swallow. "A Muggle psychiatrist diagnosed me about a month ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that, and I'm sorry that the war is to blame for that."

"But you say magic can't really help with it? That there's not even a name for it?"

"That's right, which of course is very concerning.  And really, not many Muggles would know about it, either. Perhaps the only reason I do is because of my mother's profession. One way or the other, it's real, and it happens, and even so, there's not much we can do about it. I do have a few tricks up my sleeve, though, remember? My mum is not a witch, but she of course knows a lot about the magic world, what with my father and me being wizards. I can refer you to her, if you like, to talk about this. I can also give you a Calming Draught," he added, reaching for his parchment pad again. "And don't worry. She can't legally talk to me or to anyone else about whatever you talk about to her."

"Thanks," Hermione said, and Ron immediately knew she wasn't fully convinced. He knew he better begin preparing his arguments for later.

The Healer then took a free piece of parchment from his drawer, and wrote a name and number on it. "I understand you are Muggleborn, Miss Granger. Am I right?"

"Yes."

"Then you will have no problem calling her if I give you her phone number. These are her office hours. The Draught's treatment is on the parchment. Do any of you have any questions?"

"No, thanks."

"No problem. It's my duty. Good luck," he said as he got up and helped them out of the room. "I hope you don't need me again, but if you do, I'll be here!"

* * *

 

Having picked up their medicines, Ron and Hermione arrived to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and went directly to the office. Ron closed the door behind them as he checked his watch: it was now past eleven in the morning.

He turned to see that Hermione was putting their medicine in a drawer. "I'll leave these here," she said. "I hope I won't forget to take them home tonight."

Ron walked to her and reached up to rub her shoulders. "Why don't you take it home when you take a break? Maybe then you can call the Healer's mother to make an appointment."

She scrunched her face. "Ron..."

"Hermione," he warned her, "Please don't tell me you're thinking of not calling that number he gave you."

"It's not that," she assured him. "I just don't see the point of hurrying. It's not like these... incidents happen all the time. We can wait a bit."

"Well, I don't see any point in postponing it... better to make the call and just see what the options are, yes?"

She sighed. "Yes. All right."

"If it helps, don't think that it's about asking for help for yourself; think that it's about asking for help for me. I need help in learning what to do to help you."

She gave him an unconvinced look. "Nice try," she began to say before her gesture softened. Then, with a small smile appearing on her face, she said, "it does help a little, thank you."

"You're welcome," he said, leaning down to kiss her.

"You always know how to get me to take care of myself."

"Years of experience," he joked.

"And I didn't even get to tell you what the problem was with the letter," she sighed.

Ron looked behind his back, hearing noise close to the office, "yeah, and I don't think we'll have time for that right now. Listen, we can go to your house after the shop closes. You can talk to your parents, and then we can take the time to discuss this properly."

"Including this sleeping issue you told the healer about?"

Ron winced. "Yeah, if you want. There's not much to say though."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, when the door to the office opened wide to give room to a concerned Ginny.

"Please tell me that you're late because of something important, because if you two simply overslept after spending most of the night doing things I don't want to know about, then so help me Merlin!"

Ron turned, annoyed. "Of course it was something important!" he complained, "I wouldn't have taken the morning off otherwise!"

"It was me," Hermione said, crossing her arms on her chest in a self-protective gesture he was familiar with. "I needed him. I... I had an anxiety attack and afterwards he insisted that we go to St. Mungo's."

"Oh, Hermione, are you all right?" Ginny asked, seemingly truly concerned. "I'm sorry!"

"I'm fine now," she explained. "But I'm going to need to take some time off soon, I expect. I have a few things to take care of."

"Of course," Ron assured her, already knowing she meant meeting with the Healer's mother and, potentially, with McGonagall. "We'll handle it."

"Yeah, about that," Ginny said, "the morning has been crazy. I've had to handle most things and I barely managed. I think we need more help."

"What about George?" Ron asked, immediately concerned that something had happened to George and he was now indisposed, at best.

"Oh, he's been helping with handling the payments, but I can see in his face he's already running out of energy. He said he's fine doing it for a while longer, but you said we shouldn't push him, so..."

"Yeah, yeah, I see your point." Ron thought about the issue for a moment, coming quickly to a conclusion. "I know you're right, Ginny. I've been thinking about it too, to be honest. I reckon we will need more help here eventually, but before that time comes, we have to have enough buffer time to train the new people. Before we actually need them, I mean. Then, if we need to leave them in charge for a while, we know they can take care of the shop."

"The sooner the better, then," Ginny declared.

"I think so. Let me look at the numbers now. I think we can afford it, what with the rhythm at which we've been selling stuff. I'd still rather make sure, though."

"Of course," Ginny agreed. “I'll go back to working the floor, then. Hermione, do you mind taking care of replenishing the shelves and looking after the floor?"

"No problem," she said, but remained behind as Ginny left the office. She turned to Ron, and went up on her toes  to kiss Ron on the cheek. "Thanks. For everything," she said. "We'll talk tonight, right?"

"Yeah," he said, unaware of the sweet smile he was giving her.

* * *

 

Hermione hung up the phone with a sigh. It had been a good talk; namely, she hadn't argued with her parents tonight.

She leaned back and rested her head on Ron's shoulder. "They're fine," she told him, as if he had asked. "Now that they're working at the college, there are many things we can talk about that do not involve magic."

"Good," he said, and she was happy to notice he wasn't upset at her this time for not mentioning him. "We want them happy and tired. Then they won't have the strength to fight you over being a witch, yeah?"

"Yeah," she agreed, not totally pleased with his choice of words but deciding to let it go. "So," she began, "why don't we start with you?"

Ron smirked. "Straight to the point, huh?" He squeezed her against him. "That's fine. It shouldn't take long, anyway."

"You had said you had been problems sleeping, and had even mentioned the nightmares. I didn't know it was that bad, though," she commented in a low voice, worried again over him.

"It's not a big deal," he dismissed as he shrugged his free shoulder. "I'm tired, more than anything. I feel like an Inferius, at times. But I don't remember the nightmares and that's good. So all I have to do is manage the exhaustion, and I'm all right."

"Ron," she said, turning in her place next to him to have a better look at his face. "It's not that simple. Sleeping is so important!"

"I know. That's why I mentioned it to the Healer this morning, right?"

"No, you did it to make it easier for me. I know you, Ron."

He gave her a small smile that she recognized as a _you caught me_ smile. "Yeah, you do," he agreed. "Still, it's fine. I'm fine. I have my medicine now, don't I? And the Healer did say it might take a bit of time to go back to normal. I have a problem, so I sought help and now I have a plan."

After a moment of internal conflict, Hermione was forced to admit defeat. "Fine," she said, trying to make it clear in her voice that she was displeased with leaving it at that. "You have the two months that the Healer talked about, before we decide if there's more we have to do about it."

"I wouldn't worry. In two months," he added, "I expect to be dealing with Auror training on top of taking care of the shop. That should make me tired enough that I'll sleep like a log!"

Hermione couldn't join in Ron's laugh; her heart had skipped a beat and her hands had gone cold. Just like that, Ron had renewed the concern that had made her so worried in the morning. She must have shown her fear on her face, for he immediately caught on it.

"Hermione? What's wrong?" he turned on the sofa to see her better, too, and lifted his hands to her arms.

"It's... that's the problem," she forced herself to say. "Auror training. Hogwarts. All of it," she tried to explain, and she knew she was making no sense. "All of it! And I don't want any of it! Not when it means that we'll be apart, or worse... worse... when it means you'll be putting yourself at risk with... with the Aurors..."

She tried to hold her tears back, but the knot in her throat was making her feelings evident. Frustrated, she fisted her hands and sunk her nails on her palms. Still, she never stopped looking at Ron, and saw the confusion clear from his eyes as he finally understood her meaning.

"So the letter... it mentioned Harry and me going to Auror training, and requesting a meeting to talk about you being the Gryffindor Head Girl if you were to return to Hogwarts," he explained to himself, in a voice that sounded far too monotone for Ron's usual style. It made Hermione want to explain even more.

"Look, I know you've always wanted to be an Auror. I know it's always been your dream! But I could never follow you there. It's not in me," she argued, though she knew that nobody had ever implied differently.

"I know that! I'm not asking you to be an Auror just to be with me!" Ron defensively replied, echoing her thoughts. "Where did you get that from?"

"I’m not saying that you did!" she asserted, hating that she realized she still wasn't explaining herself as well as she wanted to. "I'm not. What I mean is, I wish I could, I wish it was in me. Because then, if you're going to be risking your life, at least I would be risking mine, too!"

Ron didn't say anything this time, clearly absorbing Hermione's words. He slowly took his hands back to rest on his lap.

"No," she continued, "everyone knows I'll go back to Hogwarts. They all assume I will. I hate that they're right. And I hate that it means we'll be apart for a year. What am I supposed to do at school without you, without Harry? How am I even supposed to focus on my studies, if I know you might be in danger at the same time?"

Ron looked back at her, shock and concern all over his eyes. Hermione wished she could talk, but couldn't now that she had voiced her true fear. She tried to find words to say, solutions to give, a design for a plan. Yet there was nothing in her mind to take the place of knowing that, short of convincing Ron to go back to Hogwarts with her and hating herself for it, they were bound to be apart come September. Ron was bound to enter a dangerous profession. And she couldn't ask him not to, when it had always been his dream.

Silenced by her anguish, she simply kept looking at him while taking in a deep breath. At least this time her body didn't seem to want to add more difficulties to her life, as it didn't seem she was reacting with an attack at the thoughts.

"I'm lost, Hermione," Ron declared, interrupting her thoughts. "I don't know what to say. I need to think about it."

She nodded her head. "It's fine. I know it's a lot to take in."

"It isn't, really, but somehow it does feel like a lot."

"I still need to reply to McGonagall, though."

"I know. What are you doing?"

"I'm going to tell her that I can go on Friday, and maybe we can meet at Hogsmeade and have a meeting there, or go to Hogwarts from there."

It was him who nodded his understanding now. "Sounds good. And maybe we can talk about this after? Maybe I can come here on Friday night, once you're back."

"All right."

"I better go now," he announced, reaching for her hand and standing up, pulling her up to him. She only had a moment to wonder at how strange it was, that he wasn't insisting in that they discussed it right there and then, almost as if escaping the argument for the first time, before he smiled at her and said, "or I'll end up staying here with you again."

"You can, if you want," she immediately replied.

"I wish, but I better not. I haven't seen my mum in a few days, and I haven't talked to George either. I want to check on them... and give them a chance to see me at the Burrow. That way they don't start yapping about how I moved in here with you already, yeah?"

She laughed. "All right."

"Another time, then."

"Another time," she replied, and reached up to kiss him goodnight.

Still, alone in her enlarged bed that night, she couldn't shake the feeling that, for the first time, they had left a conversation left unsaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back! This story is back! And…
> 
> ROMIONE SHIPWEEKS
> 
> SO EXCITE, AMIRITE?
> 
> I will be posting several chapters of this story to compensate for the weeks I was away, plus two to three other things. It's going to be awesome!
> 
> Now, for the business…
> 
> I've said this before, but I want to say it again: this is not a professional opinion on what treatment for PTSD or any other mental health issue should look like. I don't want people thinking this is what they should be thinking in any way; each person should find the best treatment combination for themselves and that answer will never be in a fic.
> 
> Finally: I'm totally lost in terms of the reviews you guys have sent. I don't know what I've replied to and what I have yet to reply to. I'm also starting to work full time on Monday and I'm TRULY CONCERNED with how busy I will be and how that'll affect this story. So stay tuned, and I'm sorry if, in order to finish writing this story and posting new chapters in a timely manner, I end up not replying to all reviews. Just know that each one of them make me happy and mean so much to me.


	21. The Plan

"Good morning, dear," his mum said as soon as Ron had crossed the threshold to the kitchen. "Would you like some breakfast?"

Ron smiled from ear to ear, this time not because of the impending blessing of a full stomach, but because his mum had felt well enough to get up early and fix the meal for the family. "I'd love that, thanks, Mum," he replied and, after looking around, he asked, "where's today's Prophet? I want to check the ad I requested for today".

"Take a seat," she said. "Your dad has it. He'll come downstairs soon; you can read it then."

As if summoned, his dad came into the kitchen. "Hi, Ron? I think you should see this," he said cryptically, a concerned look on his face.

"What? Did they get the ad wrong?" Ron asked, confused, reaching for the newspaper his dad was handing to him.

"I didn't check the ad, but that's not what I meant," he explained, pointing to a short article in the _Social_ section.

Ron began reading with trepidation.

 

_Granger and R. Weasley Visit St. Mungo's_

_The pair, who were seen holding hands, visited a Healer yesterday morning for private reasons. Ms. Granger, having been abroad in foreign lands until recently, is said to be suffering from an unknown health condition. A source confirms that proper treatments are underway. It is suspected that Mr. Weasley accompanied her to offer his support in these trying times._

 

"Wha... Who..." Ron blurted, too confused by his own angered reaction to find the proper words.

"First of all, is Hermione all right, son?" his dad asked, reaching for the newspaper and giving it to Molly, who then read the few lines that were being discussed.

"Yes, she is!" Ron exclaimed. "She's... dealing with some stuff. Like we all are," he automatically defended her, although it was clear that his parents were more concerned than judgemental.

"Can we help her in any way?" His mum asked, giving the newspaper back to Ron.

"No need, Mum," he replied, running his hand through his hair. "She's going to be fine. This... trash is just trying to make news out of nothing!"

George came into the kitchen. "What's wrong?" He asked, concerned at Ron's words.

"This." Ron shoved the newspaper for George to read. "It's nothing, but they're making it sound like it's a big deal. I can't believe that every damn time I open this bloody excuse for a newspaper, I end up raging because of a stupid news article!"

"Well," George began in a calm voice, handing the newspaper back to Ron, again. "At least it implied you two are together, if that helps."

"Why would it?"

"Because it means now everyone knows she's your girlfriend. Should keep a big number of vultures out of your hands."

"Great," Ron said, "so now my relationship with Hermione is going to be public, as well?"

"Try to ignore it, son," Arthur said, a hand patting Ron's shoulder. "Kingsley said this would happen. Better not show them you care, and it'll hopefully calm down in the future."

Ron scoffed. He shook his head, upset. He wondered if maybe he should go to St. Mungo's and confront the nurses, to try to find out who had leaked the information.

"Don't do anything rash, Ron," his mum said, as if reading his mind, while setting a few plates on the table with a swish of her wand. "Listen to your dad. Ignore it."

"All right, I'll try," he promised, taking a seat next to George. "I just hope Hermione doesn't see it before I’m there to deal with it. She’s not going to be happy."

* * *

 

"So when are the interviews starting for the job?" George asked as they Flooed in to the flat above the shop. Ron had decided to follow him instead of Apparating, once George explained he didn't think he had the energy to do it and refusing to Side-along Apparate.

"Well, I paid for ads to be run for three consecutive days," he explained as he swatted some ashes off his shoulder. "If we get any answers today, maybe we can interview them starting on Friday?"

"Sounds good," George said. "We're just hiring one person to help for now, right?"

"Yeah. I thought once they're well trained, we can think of adding someone else if we need it. That way this person could act as a supervisor when we get too busy to pay attention to the training," Ron argued.

"Good thinking," he praised again, and Ron couldn't help but think it was strange to hear him giving compliments instead of just teasing you. "So do you have any idea when you might start training to become an Auror?"

"I asked Kingsley to let me know when each of the training groups begin. He said the last one will probably start in September, so that's the group I'm thinking to join." They went down the stairs to the main floor. Ron shrugged. "I think that'll give us enough time to get the business into a good routine that we can maintain despite everything."

"Yeah, about that," George said, serious, as they reached the office. Ron stopped in his tracks and turned to have a good look at George, concerned. George rolled his eyes. "Relax and listen. I’m actually hoping that what I’m about to say will lead to something good. Let's sit."

Ron did, still worried. "Are you sure it's not bad? It's scary to see you serious like this, you know?"

"Sorry for not being my usual self yet, then," he said, sarcastically, "but I don't have to be the clown for anybody just to make them feel better with thinking I'm better."

Ron lifted his hands defensively. "I never meant that, calm down. Let's... just go back to what you wanted to discuss, before we end up fighting and regretting it."

George scoffed. "Why did you have to mature? I used to enjoy making you angry."

"Ugh, no. I want you feeling better, but no, thanks. Instead, just talk. Quit stalling."

They sat across each other, one on each side of Ron’s desk. The looked at each other for a few moments, silently challenging the other.

"Fine, I'll talk," George finally conceded. "The thing is... uhm, have you noticed how I've been mostly handling the payments lately?"

"Yeah?"

"Seeing all the products and what people prefer and everything, well, it has made me get a few ideas for new products, is all."

"But that's great! Why would you want to piss me off before telling me that?" he asked, genuinely curious, and glad to hear the news.

"Because I didn't want you too happy and getting your hopes too high," he argued.

"It's not like I'm pushing you," Ron said, offended, but adding no heat to his words.

"That's true and, although I thank you for that, maybe you should."

Ron was perplexed. "I'm sorry?"

George sighed. "Look, I'm only saying this because you caught me that day up there in the flat, and because I realise you're keeping track of me, as infuriating as it is."

"I'm only doing it because I care. I thought you knew, but if you don't, then it's about time you got that into your skull."

"I know, I know. But it's not only infuriating because it makes me feel like I need babysitting, but because I think I'm forced to agree that I maybe need it."

Ron felt dread and bile rise in his stomach, knowing before any further words were exchanged were this was going. George wouldn't be circling the issue if it wasn't major, and it being George immediately brought to mind some of the things only Ron knew about. Why else would he be talking to him about it, and hesitating so much all at the same time? No, Ron's gut had to be right. An involuntary chill went down his spine.

"I wouldn't even mention this, but I thought a lot about it last night, and where I would have talked to Fred about this, I evidently can't now. You found me that day and I ended up telling you things I haven't told anyone else yet. That puts you in the position of being the only one I can possibly talk to about what's going on, as much as I hate it and as much as I want to avoid it. And now I want firewhisky to help me get through this."

"I'd rather you don't go down that route, George. No firewhisky to make things easier," he suggested in a low, still-scared voice.

"Aaaanyway," George said, elongating the word, "don't distract me."

"I'm not trying to distract you!"

"Shhh! Just let me..."

Ron closed his eyes, trying to gather the little control he had. He needed to hear what George had to say, even if it took some time, even if waiting was heightening his fear. He needed to let George say the words, so that Ron had something to grasp and use in his answer.

It took George a moment to gather his thoughts, but he finally did.

"Like I said, I don't want to talk about this. I'm only doing it because I realise I need it and because I promised dad that I would reach out for help if I thought I needed it. That I would force myself to do it. So I'm forcing myself."

Ron wanted to ask, to tell him he was afraid, but didn't. He had understood that interrupting George right now would just make him avoid what he needed to say. After a moment, George looked back into the shop to make sure they were still alone, to then reach for his wand to charm the door closed.

George sighed. "I don't want to take too long, because I know the girls are coming soon and I don't want them overhearing this. I know Ginny is naturally nosy and Hermione's your girlfriend, but don't tell them what I'm about to say, all right?"

"I promise," he said without a doubt. He knew it would be difficult to not tell anything to Hermione, but he had to be true to his brother in this.

"I've been... having these thoughts... along the lines of not wanting to be here anymore. Remember what we talked about that day in the flat? How I didn't have the energy to be alive anymore?"

Ron's hairs stood on end, just as terrified of those words as he had been the first time. He didn't reply.

"It appears that now I do have a bit more of energy, but not the will. It's... fucking infuriating, it's what it is, and scary. Coming to the shop has been helpful; with time I'm starting to find it easier to have a normal day, even if I still get exhausted suddenly or wanting to sleep half the day. But with that new energy, my mind is getting more active and with that a lot of... intruding… concerning thoughts... have appeared." George shook his head, trying to clear it up of the dark cloud that Ron couldn't see, but could clearly sense was surrounding his mind. "It's like... it's like having now more energy to be active is giving me the energy to imagine how I would like to disappear."

"George..." Ron began, frightened, but George lifted a hand to stop him.

"Don't worry, little brother. You don't know it, but that night after we returned to the Burrow, I thought about all we had talked about here in the flat. I kept coming back to your question, what is keeping me here? And after much consideration; after thinking of all the reasons why I _should_ stay here even if I don't _want_ to, I promised myself that I would do my best to keep myself alive. Between all the things you said and the promise dad clawed out of me, well... that's why I'm here, talking to you."

At a loss, Ron couldn't think of saying anything but, "How can I help?"

Ron knew he had said the right thing when George nodded twice, still serious. "How long do you think until we can afford to pay ourselves a salary?"

Ron, who had not expected that question at all, took a moment to think of the answer. "Uhhh... well, we've been open for less than a month. I haven't looked at the numbers quite that way. But I did look at them carefully yesterday, to see if we could afford hiring someone."

"And?"

"We already surpassed this month's goal," Ron explained, "but that goal didn't include a salary for anybody."

"All right," George said, drumming his fingers in consideration on Ron's desk, "then here's what I'd like to do..."

* * *

 

Ron had a lot to think about. Although he had managed to work through his task list for the day, he had been distracted, trying to digest his conversation with George.

It had been terrifying to know George was still thinking of dying. Ron had seen him doing better and had thought that, although still depressed and grieving, he had overcome those thoughts. To know he had been so mistaken despite having been trying to pay attention horrified him and ashamed him.

At least, George had said that he was actively trying to _not_ do it. That was good. But the plan he had come up with to achieve it was... unexpected, at best.

Merlin, he wanted to talk to Hermione about it. The part that he was allowed to discuss with her, anyway.

They had said hi that morning in a rush, for his sudden meeting with George had taken a long time; time he had thought he would use for something else. So when Hermione had come in that morning, Ron had kissed her quickly and asked her out for lunch. She had barely told him yes before he had moved on to work.

And now, as lunch approached, he realised that it wasn't only George's plan that he had to think about. He should also take some time to think of Hermione's revelations from the night before and stop avoiding the issue.

Really, that’s all he had done to date. Avoid it. He had avoided it again the night before, and he didn’t like doing that. Yet he had done it, just like he had done ever since she had returned, and ever since they had gotten together. It had been a nagging little voice in the depths of his mind, being relentlessly pushed back any time it dared peek into Ron's awareness. But now he couldn't pretend he was blind to it anymore, not now that Hermione had put words to it.

Come September, chances were they would be apart. After more than a month of being separated after the war, he knew how difficult it would be to be away from her, especially now that they were together. Adding to the problem, was that the idea of them being apart and of him training to be an Auror was causing Hermione anxiety. What were they going to do? What was he to do?

"Ron? Are you ready?"

Hermione's arrival signaled that time had flown faster than he thought, and they were set to have lunch.

"Yes, give me a minute," he requested as he took a couple finishing notes before taking the break.

Hermione sat in front of him on the other side of the desk. "By the way, I totally forgot to tell you. The Healer's mother? She gave me an appointment for tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah, I meant to ask you-- sorry, I've been all over the place," he said. "Look, can we buy something somewhere, to go? Do you mind if we go to your house? I need to talk to you."

"Oh God," Hermione said, her eyes open wide. "It's true what they say. Those words are scary. But yeah, sure, let's go..."

* * *

 

They came to Hermione's house with their take-away food and two butterbeers, and decided to settle outside on the deck. They sat side by side, eating in companionable silence for a while, their legs crossed and resting on the step below, very much like they had on the day they had first kissed. Or second-kissed, to be more specific. Ron must have been thinking about it, too, for he turned to her after drinking some butterbeer, giving her a bright smile. "I think this spot is always going to make me think of the time I finally had the bollocks to tell you I'm in love with you."

"Why, Ron," she replied, looking for a light-hearted comment; a joke that would keep the relaxed feeling they had kept since leaving the shop. "Had you been waiting for a long time or what?" She chuckled.

But when she looked at Ron and saw his serious face, she knew she had missed the mark.

"Well, yeah," Ron said. "I've known I'm in love with you for a while now, but I reckon I always fancied you, to a degree."

She saw him swallow, a clear sign that he was nervous and feeling vulnerable.

"Even during first year? If I recall correctly, you thought I was a nightmare," she said, finding it impossible not to question him, her voice exposing her true curiosity.

He half scoffed, half laughed. "I suppose not. I truly disliked you back then. All my fault, though. To my benefit, I'll say I quickly changed my mind and, by the way, have I told you that I love you?"

Hermione laughed. "All right, good. I guess I can forgive you for calling me a nightmare, then, seeing as you have so clearly changed your ways."

Ron leaned down and kissed her. "You've had to forgive me for a lot of things. I know I've cocked up plenty. I'm sorry."

She hadn't been expecting the obvious heartfelt apology. She lifted a hand to his face. "Hey, it's okay. I haven't been a saint, exactly, either. We've dealt with everything, haven't we? And we're still learning how to make this work. I'm sure there's going to be plenty to be forgiven in the future; we're far too strong-headed and stubborn to expect otherwise. Let's take everything else as practice for the future."

Ron laughed, leaving his sandwich to his side on top of its wrapper. He reached out for Hermione's, leaving it next to his own.

"What are you doing?"

"I need to snog you," he replied, surrounding her face with his hands and pointing it to his. "You're too brilliant to believe and I don't have the words to explain just how much that thrills me."

He kissed her again, his words still ringing in her ears. She dove into the moment with glee. She didn't know exactly what she had said to cause his reaction, but she was glad those words had come out of her mouth. Who would have thought that once Ron stopped fearing her reaction so much; that once he told her exactly what he was thinking about her, he would be so endearing? Wanting to repay him in kind, she refused to second guess herself or to wonder about how Ron would react to her being forward. Feeling happy and dizzy, she surrounded his neck with her arms, to then give in and pull him back with her to rest on the patio, the moment so delightful to her that she didn't mind the hardness of the wooden planks under her back.

Ron seemed to be happy with the new arrangement. He mumbled his appreciation against her lips, shifting around until he found a somewhat comfortable position. Now his legs were going down the steps, tangled with hers, and if the weird angle was uncomfortable to him, he didn't show it. He simply kept on kissing her, carrying the weight of his torso on his bent elbows, his hands still around her face.

The moment broke suddenly when he lifted his face with a chuckle. "I'm sorry," he said, "I just thought... How did I think it was a good idea to get an egg sandwich? I must taste horrid."

"Shut it," Hermione replied, reaching up to pull him down to kiss her again. "You have nothing to worry about. You actually taste like butterbeer."

He resisted her pull, maybe still self conscious about the way he tasted, shifting around so that his weight was supported on his right elbow alone. His left hand now free, he lifted it to her face. "You like my kiss, then?" The tip of his index finger touched her cheek, then softly touched her jaw and down her neck, resting on her clavicle. He looked slightly smug as his eyes followed the path of his finger.

She shivered. "Yes," she simply said, liking this new development.

His finger traveled slightly further, down the edge of her v-neck shirt. "How much?" He asked, still smug, and she understood it was that complacent, self-assured feeling that was fueling his advances... and his sudden dexterity. She needed to file that for future reference: as with Quidditch, confidence made him really good at what he did.

"Loads," she replied in an excitement-induced uncharacteristic manner.

He bent to kiss her neck as his fingers left the hem of her shirt. His hand now hovered down to her waist, the softest touch on the side of her breast as it did so, subtle enough that she wondered if he had done it on purpose, or had noticed at all. She herself couldn't focus on it for too long, or wondered about his intentions, because the warmth of his breath and the tickling of his lips on the soft skin below her ear made her quiver and forget everything else.

"Bloody hell, that's hot," he exclaimed at noticing her reaction, the warmth of his words promptly causing another ripple. "You like this?" he asked again, blatantly amazed this time, to then bend down again and breathe on her skin. She shuddered once more.

She chuckled despite being short of breath. "I'm guessing I do, by the looks of it," she conceded. "If only we weren't on the deck..." she added self-consciously, her eyes looking around her house’s garden. She didn’t think anyone could really see them, but it didn’t change the fact that she thought they weren’t at the point of getting frisky outside.

"Crap, yeah, I guess you're right." He lifted his head to look at her, and his sheepish looks made her curious. "Sorry, I got a bit lost after you told me you like my kisses. I just need, err... a minute, here, to... uhm, well, to calm down a little," he finished, pursing his lips into a thin line that barely bent up in the corners in a self-deprecating smile. "I guess you could, uhm, say that I... liked it, too. Your reaction, I mean. Anyway..."

Hermione giggled. "You liked it, huh?" She angled her head to reach for his neck, kissing his own soft skin. He groaned.

"Fuck," he said, and noticing the hitch in his breath filled her with the desire to gloat, to say, _here, look, I can do this to you, too_. "You're not helping my situation here."

"All right," she said as she pulled back, "I'll be good. Only because we're outside."

"Thank Merlin," he said, rolling back to rest on his own back. “Good thing that you remembered where we were, because I was quickly forgetting, myself.”

Knowing that Ron had been affected by their short-lived explorations, Hermione couldn't help herself and tried to peek down to his groin as he laid on his back. She was curious and nervous at the prospect of what she might see, but couldn't notice anything from her angle on the patio. She let out the air that remained in her lungs.

"Good, fine," he said, sitting up after a moment and lifting his hands to somewhat tidy up his hair. Hermione sat up next to him. "Might as well just talk. I'm dying to tell you about my morning." He reached for their food and gave Hermione her sandwich.

"Yes, so what happened?" She asked. "When I got to the shop you were already in that meeting with George." She bit into her food.

Ron waited to finish swallowing his bite before answering. "We were discussing plans for the business. Turns out, Fred and George had a bit of money turned aside to invest in it. He explained to me that after the family went into hiding, when they studied the list of clients that had continued to order products by mail, they had a lot more customers than before, considering the context of war and all. Some of them were even new customers from other countries in Europe! So what he's thinking, is that we should invest that money into hiring a couple of extra hands, perhaps around three people, so that we train one of them to work with George in handling the shop's mail service, we train another to work the floor properly, and the third to fill in wherever is needed. Meanwhile, George is going to try to create new products, some of which are going to be sold exclusively by mail. You know, to encourage people to try the service. I'll be handling most of the rest, still with George's help, of course. That way, we hope we'll be ready to handle the surge of business we're hoping to generate, even once I start Auror training, and even when you and Ginny leave to Hogwarts."

Even though a part of Hermione wanted to ask him about that, about the conversation they had avoided the night before, she decided she should let him have the time he needed to think about it. So, instead she said, "That sounds like a very good strategy!"

"It does, but you never know with business. I don't want to grow too fast; I dunno if our current success is more than just the novelty of having Wheezes open again."

Hermione nodded her head from side to side, amazed at him. "Did you know you had such a good head for business, Ron?"

Ron laughed self-deprecatingly. "I don't think that's necessarily right. It was the tw-- the twins area of expertise, really. All I did was listen to George, and use that for a strategy. It's still what I'm doing, to be honest."

"Don't, Ron," Hermione said warningly. "You're good, and I'm not going to let you bring yourself down anymore. You take the compliment you deserve, or else..."

"Or else?" Ron imitated her, and this time he laughed. "I don't know why it's such a big deal; I'm just being honest."

"Honest, but wrong," she insisted. "You've never realised quite how clever you are."

"If you say so," he said, shrugging dismissively, clearly just trying to appease her. "You're the genius, after all."

"If I am that, then trust me when I say you're smart, Ron."

He cocked his head to the side, with a soft smile. "All right, I'll take it."

"Good," she said, satisfied, and putting the remaining bit of her sandwich in her mouth. She glanced at Ron, who had finished his a few bites ago and was now drinking a bit more of his butterbeer. "Anyway," she said, "I'm so happy that George is feeling better."

"Well, about that, uhm," he began, taking a breath and clearing his throat. "He's... fine... but he thinks he needs to keep himself busy. That's why he's going to try to... uhm, to focus on the mail service and on creating new products if at all possible..."

It was clear that there was a lot that Ron wanted to say, and was trying to figure out how to say it. Hermione got nervous with anticipation for what he was going to tell her, and forced herself to not say anything and let Ron figure out the words he wanted to use.

"The thing is, he also thinks that it would be good for him to move into the flat above the shop. He thinks that it'll help him get his mind into business mode, like it was when he and Fred were living there. That way, if he wakes up in the middle of the night and feels like working, he can just go down to the shop instead of getting up and using the Floo to go there, in a house where everyone is still keeping tabs on him. He says that, that way, nobody would freak out if they wake up to not find him at home, and things like that."

"But they're keeping tabs on him for a reason," Hermione argued. "He shouldn't be living alone if he's not fully himself yet. He needs to have people to rely on when he's feeling down, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, and he knows that." He bit the inside of his lips. "That's why... that's why he's asked me to move in with him."

That was a shock. She didn’t know what to make of it. When she finally got her mind back in order, she asked, "and what did you say?"

"I said we have to think about it, him and I," Ron said. "I reckon Mum is going to hate it, but George is serious about this. He says he really needs to get out of the house, that he can't handle being in the room he shared with Fred when they were little. He says that in the flat, because they didn't share a room and all, they had begun to have more independent lives, in a way, even if still joined at the hip and all that. He thinks that'll help him heal better. So he wants to use some of the savings for us to have a living wage and move into the apartment together."

"I guess that makes sense, but you're right, I don't think your mum is going to like that one bit."

"I know. But if that's what George needs, then we'll have to make it work and... if he moves to the flat... I think I should move in with him, too."

Hermione took a sip of her own butterbeer, trying to mull things over.

"I was thinking, too," Ron continued, "that, let's say we do move out and my mum handles it well enough, considering Ginny and Percy are still there. There's the matter of what Harry is going to do..."

"Harry," she said, knowing Ron was right, and thinking about their friend. "He's going to want to move out, too."

"Yeah, you know how he is. He's going to say that since I'm not there anymore he should leave The Burrow, as well. It won't matter that I tell him he can stay as long as he wants, or that everybody else tells him so, either."

"Maybe he'll stay, since Ginny is there..." Hermione suggested with no strength, knowing Harry like she did.

"Nah, you know he won't. He was already talking about moving out after the Battle, but Ginny and I argued him out of it."

"Where will he go, do you think?" Hermione asked, absentmindedly reaching out to hug his arm and rest her head on his shoulder. "Grimmauld Place?"

"I don't know. I reckon it’s too big of a place for a single bloke, and so gloomy. It probably reminds him a lot of Sirius and those first weeks after we escaped the wedding. Then again, it's Harry, and it's the closest he has to a home, so I don't know."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "Yes, we'll have to see."

Ron checked his watch and sighed. "We should get going."

"Yeah, we should," she said reaching for her wand and vanishing what was left of their lunch.

Ron got up and offered a hand to Hermione to help her stand up. She didn't expect him to use the movement to pull her in into a hug.

"We still have loads to talk about," he said into her hair.

"I agree," she said, resting her head on his chest.

"Why don't you come to The Burrow tonight after you're done talking to your parents? I'll save some food for you."

* * *

 

**AN: Are you guys loving Romione HPShipweeks on Tumblr as much as I am? GOOD.**

**I want to thank Otterandterrier, Jenahid, and Honouraryweasley12 for their constant help, cheering, support, trouble-solving skills, and general awesomeness. This story wouldn't be what it is without them!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you guys loving Romione HPShipweeks on Tumblr as much as I am? GOOD.
> 
> I want to thank Otterandterrier, Jenahid, and Honouraryweasley12 for their constant help, cheering, support, trouble-solving skills, and general awesomeness. This story wouldn't be what it is without them!


	22. That Night

According to plan, Hermione had Apparated to a safe spot in The Burrow's garden. It was easier now that she had been allowed entry through the wards. She didn't expect to hear the raised voices as she approached the back door, though.

"You're not leaving!" Molly's voice resonated through the closed kitchen door.

"Mum, I need to go," George was arguing, his voice slightly higher but still relatively controlled.

"I don't understand why you can't stay here with us," his mum was saying, "there's nothing you can do in the flat that you can't do here!"

"In fact, there is," he said. "I can mourn there without the constant reminder of the childhood I had with my dead twin."

"There's no need to be so blunt, George," Arthur admonished.

Hermione stood outside the door, unsure as to whether she should go inside at all but not knowing what else to do. She didn't want to interrupt, but she felt silly just standing there, eavesdropping into their conversation. Maybe she should leave altogether… but Ron was expecting her…

"Mum," Ron's voice came through the door, "if George needs to go, then we have to listen. He knows what he needs."

"But who's going to look after you there, George? Who's going to make sure you're eating? That's the point of staying together as a family, to look after one another in times of need."

This time, Molly's voice came softer through the door, as if the fight had left her; that prompted Hermione to follow the impulse to knock on the door and come into the kitchen, hoping for the best.

"I'm not going to be alone, Mum. Ron is moving in with me," George explained.

"What?!" Molly had exclaimed, and Hermione winced at having made the mistake to come in at that moment. She should have left and sent a message to Ron to let him know why she had felt she had to, and left the family to have their discussion in peace.

"Hermione!" Ron said at seeing her, and with the scratch of his chair on the floor, she saw him get up and come to her. "Sorry, we're in the middle of something."

"Should I go?" she apologetically asked him, but he held her hand and pulled her in. "No, don't. It's not like this is the first you've seen us arguing like this," he scoffed.

"What's next, you're going to tell me that Hermione's moving in with you, too?" Molly spat in anger.

"Mum!" Ron said lifting a hand in a gesture that expressed she should stop. "Don't take out your anger on Hermione!"

Molly huffed and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Hermione, dear. I didn't mean that," she said formally, although her anger was still evident.

"I'm not moving in with Ron, Mrs. Weasley," she said, sitting in a chair as Ron sat next to her. "I'll stay living at my parents' house until I go to Hogwarts in September."

"Good, like the sensible girl you are."

"Only that she's living alone, Mum, and it's not the end of the world," George commented, clearly tired, but fighting his case.

"Hermione's parents are all the way in Australia still, and you know that," Ron said, cross, but trying to keep himself in control. "They speak to each other every day! We can do the same. You can Floo to visit and I'm sure I'll be busy... we can use a few home-made meals if you're up to it..." he said, trying to be conciliatory, showing her they would still need her, and she could still take care of them, if she wanted.

"Why do you need to move out, son?" Arthur asked George. "At the core, deep down. Do you really need to move out? Are you trying to escape the memories, or our presence? What is it?"

George sighed. "All of it. I'm sorry, but it's true. And I really need to keep myself busy."

"But the shop is full of memories, too, isn't it?" Arthur continued arguing.

"It is, but it's different. There... I can feel like I have my own life. Here it's always my life as a twin, growing up, being your children. At the flat, I can be myself, missing Fred like everything, but free to use my time differently, because that's what we were doing before we went to Muriel's to hide. Whenever we came back to you guys we fell back into being a single unit, the two of us. At the flat, we had begun to do some things on our own. I need to grab onto that."

"George," Molly said, this time in a more concerned tone, sitting next to him and reaching for his hand. "I'm sure you can still do that here. We just want to keep the family together for a little while longer."

"I need to go, Mum," George said, pleading. "It's something I've been thinking about for a little while now, even if I only made decision recently. As hard as it is to be so occupied and so tired, working has been good for me. Being in the flat will help me focus on that even more, no matter the time of the day. I can just go upstairs to nap in the middle of the day and then go back downstairs to work again as soon as I wake up if I can gather the strength."

"But the Floo Network... and Apparating..." Molly insisted, but Arthur put a hand on her arm.

"Dear, we've talked about this. We knew the day would come. We can't keep them all in our house forever. And if George really thinks he has to, then we have to accept that."

"But he's not ready yet!" she complained to Arthur and to everyone. "It's too soon!"

"I am not ready, you're right, but this is what I need to help me get better, don't you see?" George argued again. "Dad, you said I should ask for help if I needed it. This is me telling you how you can help: let me go. Ron will be with me. I won't be alone."

"Are you all right with this, Ron?" asked Arthur. "Will you be fine sleeping in Fred's bedroom?"

Hermione looked at Ron and saw him swallow. "I will be." She saw him shrug, but the movement seemed a lot like he was trying to lose a knot on his shoulders. As if she could read his mind, she knew he was bracing himself to fight on George's side, even if she knew that he didn't really want to. She knew she was right when she heard him come up with different arguments in their favor. "I'll soon be too busy to even eat at decent times, probably working at odd times and all," he said. "By living at the flat with George, I won't feel as bad disrupting the house's schedule and coming and going at who knows what kind of pace. I wouldn't be able to see you both that often, anyway, let's be honest, even if I were still living here."

"We're still going to come for dinner often, and you can come visit us, as well," George added. "This needed to happen, sooner or later. It doesn't mean we're never seeing each other again, or even that much less. We'll just be living at different addresses."

A moment of silence filled the air, still dense with the family's discussion. After a minute, Molly sunk into herself in defeat.

"George and Ron leave," she said, taking in a quivering breath, "then Ginny will leave in September. What are we to do, Arthur?"

"Understand that our children are all grown up and living their own lives, as much as it pains us that it means they're leaving the nest. You'll cry for a bit, like when Bill and Charlie and then Percy left the first time. Then we'll adapt."

"It's different now," she said, and Hermione felt uncomfortable at hearing Ron's parents talk like this; it felt like they were having a very intimate moment that she was intruding upon.

"It is, but we'll get through it, too, together."

Molly lifted her face to look at George and Ron. "When are you leaving?"

George looked at Ron and said, "I don't know. We haven't decided, yet. I just needed to talk about this right now, to give us all time to prepare. I don't want to stall; I can't let myself stall right now."

"I think... a good plan for me would be to start packing a bit each night," Ron added, "then get the flat ready to move in. I don't know how long it'll take, but once that's done then I'd be ready to move out. We..." he cleared his throat, and then his voice came a little constricted. "At least we did put Fred's things in boxes already, when we were cleaning up the shop before opening it. That'll make it easier."

"I'll start packing, then," George said. He looked to the floor for a moment, and then back up. "I really need this, Mum, Dad. Believe me I wouldn't be doing it otherwise."

When Hermione looked at Ron's mum, she realised Molly had started weeping. Arthur stood up and said, "Come on, dear. Let's go. Goodnight all."

They slowly left the kitchen, leaving a heavy feeling in the air and a slightly dazed trio.

"Well, that went better than I expected," George joked in a huff.

"At least you're joking," Ron said, sighing and shaking his head in disapproval.

* * *

After Hermione had had dinner, and after checking that George was all right and would be fine on his own, Ron asked Hermione if she would go with him outside. Holding her hand, Ron took in a deep breath, the air full of summer night's aromas. It was one of his favorite smells, one full of memories of being back home from school for a couple of months, being free to do whatever he pleased with his time; one full of memories of time shared with family and friends, of the first few times he looked at Hermione as something different than a friend.

"I'm sorry I came in at the wrong time," Hermione said to his side, squeezing his hand.

"It's fine. Like I said, you've seen us arguing before-"

Both Ron and Hermione jumped and automatically reached for their wands as Ginny and Harry Apparated within an arm's length away from them.

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed, quickly putting his wand back in his pocket. "You scared us!"

"We're sorry," Ginny said.

"There's no way we could have known that you guys were right here, sorry," Harry added.

"Where are you coming from, anyway?" Hermione asked.

"Andromeda's. We had dinner with them."

"How's Auror training, mate?" Ron inquired.

"Exhausting, to be honest, but really good, too. I'm not supposed to tell you more than that, though," he added with a smile. "We don't want to encourage cheating, you see."

"Wanker," Ron said with no heat.

"So where are you going now?" Ginny asked.

"I was taking Hermione somewhere, probably just to the bench under the tree, the one close to the pond, I guess. I just needed some time out of the house, and well, uhm, just talk."

"Why, did something happen?" Ginny asked again. "Or is it about the Prophet's article this morning?"

"What article?" Hermione asked, and Ron looked nervously at her.

"Nothing, erm, just something there about... uhm, about us. Don't worry, I'll tell you later, I promise. But yeah," he added turning to Ginny, hoping that Hermione would drop the subject for the time being. "There are a few things going on right now. You want to come with us for a little while?"

"Sure," Harry and Ginny said in unison, and the group walked together in silence until they reached the bench.

"So, what's happening?" Harry began as he and Ginny sat on the ground to leave the bench to Ron and Hermione. He could clearly see his friend's sudden concern.

"Nothing major. Just... a few changes to the shop, to start with."

"Oh?" Ginny uttered in interest.

"George and I talked about some investment he wants to make in the business, to grow it a bit more. We're going to start doing sales over the mail again, and George is going to be in charge of that. He's also going to start trying to create new products again."

"That's great!" Ginny exclaimed, "though a whole new load of work. I don't know if hiring just one more person will be enough to help with everything."

"You're right. That's why we think we'll hire three people."

"Sounds reasonable," Harry said. "That'll also help once you start training. I'm telling you, it's bloody exhausting. I think you'll need all the help you can get with the shop, once the girls leave for Hogwarts."

Ron nodded his agreement. "I know. That's why we're starting with three right now, to have them properly trained soon. We got a few resumes today; we'll wait and see if we get any more by Friday and I'll start owling them in for an interview."

"There's more," Hermione mentioned, leaning into him to prod him to talk.

"Yeah, well... uhm, the thing is, George thinks it'll do him good to move out and focus on work for a while."

"Move out? Move where?" Ginny exclaimed, in a tone much too similar to what his Mum had sounded the first time George mentioned his idea after dinner.

"To the flat above the shop and, err, the thing is, he agrees he doesn't want to be alone, so, um..." He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up. "He asked me to move in with him." The other three were silent, so Ron felt like he needed to explain more. "I think it makes sense. I mean, commuting is not really an issue, but I think that once I start training and all of that, I should be busy enough that I won't be seeing the family much, anyway. And if it's what George needs, and it gives me the independence to work and train without inconveniencing Mum and Dad, then I think it's a good idea."

"Are you sure, Ron?" Harry asked. "You hadn't really talked about moving out until now and, well, uhm, you'd be moving into... Fred's... room, wouldn't you?"

Ron sighed. "Yeah. I know. Yeah. I mean, it's not how I imagined I would move out from my parents' house, to be honest. I reckon it's not ideal, but it does have benefits, one of which is to help George. So I'll do it." All three were still looking at him in silence, and Ron could feel their incredulity crawling on his skin. "All right, fine. Yeah, I'm not excited about it. But this is about George, not about me. So I agreed and I'll move in with him."

"Have you told Mum, yet?" Ginny asked. "She's not going to like it. Not like Dad is going to like it better, I think, but it's Mum who's going to be more vocal about it..."

"We just told her, after dinner. George wanted to get this started. And nope, she didn't like it one bit, but I think she's not going to fight us on it too much. At the end of the day, this is mostly because George feels he needs it to get better. That's what matters the most, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Ginny agreed.

"When are you moving out?" Harry asked, and Ron immediately knew that Harry had connected the dots and was thinking about his own situation at The Burrow.

"I don't know. I have to start packing, then get the flat ready, and then we'll move out. George really wants out as soon as possible, though, so probably in a week or so. Uhm... you could take over my room when I leave if... if you like..."

"Take your room? I couldn't!"

"You slept in the twins' room before. Why not take over mine?"

"It's different," Harry argued.

"Then you could take George's room, if you want," Ron continued.

"I think that what Ron is trying to say, is that you don't have to leave," Ginny said, as perceptive as any of them in reading Harry.

"It'd feel weird, though..."

"It doesn't have to," Ron countered.

"I did tell you I was going to offer you and Hermione to move in with me to Grimmauld place but... I guess that's out of the question for now..." Harry continued.

Ron sensed Hermione's surprise at hearing this, as she wasn't particular to the details.

"I would have said yes to that, sometime in the future," Ron said. "Who knows, maybe we still can make it work after the girls return from Hogwarts, but we don't know yet, do we? And I already told George he could count on me."

"No, I get it. It's just... well, I don't know. I have to think about it."

Silence grew between them for a minute, a time when Ron saw Ginny looking at Harry with contemplation. Finally, she sighed and turned to Hermione. "Hey, I wanted to ask, are you all right? We didn't talk too much about it yesterday and, well, I do feel bad about it... also, you know... after today's shitty article..."

Ron knew this time he wouldn't be able to shift the attention somewhere else. Perhaps it was good, at least to get that out of the way.

"What's this article you're talking about? Ron?" She turned to ask him directly.

"Well... first of all, you know how utter dung can pass for writing in that excuse of a newspaper, right?"

"Ron... what is it? Where is it? I want to read it myself," Hermione said, starting to get up from the bench, but Ron kept her down next to him.

"No need, but you can see it after. It's only five lines, really. They were just making shit up. Somehow they know we went to see a Healer yesterday, and they tried to imply something serious was going on."

"Is something serious going on?" Harry asked.

"No," Ron quickly said, aware that he didn't really know how serious it was; aware that it had seemed pretty serious to him, and that he was still concerned for Hermione. "We'll know more about it tomorrow. Hermione's going to go see a Muggle specialist."

"I have a... uhm, a very serious form of stress, I guess you could say," Hermione further explained. "From... all that happened in the war... you know... with..."

"It's all right, Hermione," Ron said, trying to make her feel better, trying to stop her from even having to mention that damned witch's name.

"I'm sorry," Ginny said, and Harry nodded in agreement.

Without having to look, Ron knew Hermione felt uncomfortable at best, ashamed at worst. He wished he could take it all away with a swish of his wand, but knew it was useless. Magic wasn't all-powerful, after all.

* * *

They sat together as they watched Harry and Ginny walk home. They saw them disappear behind a bend in the yard, prompting Hermione to look at Ron. He looked back at her.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't want you to hear about the article like that."

As usual, Ron knew exactly what was bothering her. It was something he had become consistently better at through the years, and one of the reasons she appreciated his friendship so much. By now he could often understand her without her needing to say a single word.

"You know I would have wanted to know," she chided.

"Yeah, but how does it help, really?"

"It doesn't-"

"It actually makes it worse, doesn't it?"

"Maybe," she conceded, "but I still want to know."

"It's not like I hid it from you. You know now, and I was planning to tell you. Hell, we've barely had the time to talk about anything, as it is."

"Are you... ready to talk, at all? I mean, last night you seemed like you preferred not to talk about my fears, and went home instead. Honestly, it freaks me out a little; I'm not used to us not just letting things out in the open."

He shuffled his foot on the dirt, looking down at it. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I don't know why it's so hard... I mean, it must be because it's something I really, really don't want to think about. You and me being apart, I mean."

"I know," she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. "I don't like the idea at all, either."

"It's so unfair, to think we'll be apart again after the month and bit we were apart already. I was never truly spoiled, until I got used to having you within arms reach most of the time. And I couldn't even reach for you back then," he further complained, releasing her hand and turning on the bench to surround her with his arms. "I can now, and I don't want to have to stop."

She sighed, understanding Ron's sentiment deeply as it echoed hers. "What are we going to do? I have to go to Hogwarts."

She rested her head on his shoulder, looking at his chest rise and fall as he breathed. She tried to concentrate on the rhythm of his lungs, as she knew she'd be forced to think of how tight hers felt if she didn't.

"I know," he finally said. "And, Hermione... I _have_ to become an Auror."

"But do you, really?" she asked in spite of herself. She knew it was selfish, but she couldn't help it. Ron being an Auror truly terrified her, and she was sure that just talking about it was to blame for how erratic her heart felt. "Haven't you had enough fighting and risk in your life? I know that I for sure have!"

"Of course I've had enough! You know that for the longest time, it was the thrill of it that really made me want to become an Auror. But that's not it, anymore. I reckon... a lot of it is about proving to myself that I can really be an Auror. That I have it in me, you know."

"How can you doubt that?" She argued. "After all you've done, after the kind of things we did during the war, don't you have enough proof that you can be great at that kind of work? Fighting against the Dark Arts and more?"

"It's not the same," Ron said. "That was having to fight for our life. Being an Auror is more than that, it's training and discipline and being strategic. It's being a master at fighting the Dark Arts, not just a sad bloke racking his brains to come up with a good spell in a fight."

"Ron Weasley! How can you say that?" She chastised him, sitting up straight to look disapprovingly to his face, glad that the rage she felt was successful at distracting her from her own distress. "You were never a sad bloke nor racking your brains for anything," she said with feeling. "You're good at it. You're good at anything you put your mind to, really, and I'm honestly tired of you doubting it all the time. I don't understand why you can't see it, nor why you have to risk your life to prove it!"

"Because being an Auror was my dream! It may not be quite that anymore, but I still need to prove to myself that I can do it. You know I was never a brilliant student, to the point I knew I had no real chance to be admitted to be an Auror. Now they offered me the chance, Hermione," he continued, "and I can't reject it. It's a respected job that will give me a good standing, and they're asking me to join. It's what I always hoped would happen, to prove to myself and to you and to the world that I can make it happen. I don't want to look back years in the future and have to wonder whether I could have succeeded at it."

"Oh, Ron!" she exclaimed, infuriated that it had to be that way. She kneeled on the bench and reached out to hug him, her arms tight around his neck, insistent until she felt his arms wrap around her waist again.

"You don't have to prove anything to me. I thought for a while that you were finally growing confident, seeing yourself for who you truly are. I guess that even if that's true, I can't deny there's still a long road ahead of us, to prove to _yourself_ how amazing you are. What am I going to do?" she asked. "Without you at Hogwarts, wondering if maybe something bad is happening to you?"

"If I'm as good as you say I am, then nothing should happen to me, right?" he said.

She moved slightly to be able to see his face. "You're insufferable," she said in resignation, "But I get why you want to do this. I just can't ask you not to do it, even if I really wish I could. "

"Really, I don't think I'm as bad anymore but, let's face it, there's plenty of room for improvement," he joked. "Being an Auror is about gaining an extra ounce of confidence. First I get the bird I want, next I grow some muscle and fight the bad guys. You'll be complaining about my ego after all of that," he joked, but she only rolled her eyes.

A few moments passed as Ron looked down at her, his eyes unwavering. She could see he had recognized that she needed to be serious, now, that she needed to know he understood where she was coming from. He finally said, "I know it's going to be difficult for the both of us. But think, being so busy might be the only thing keeping me sane once you're gone."

"Then maybe I should agree to be Head Girl, then, " Hermione said. "To keep just as busy."

"I'm truly sorry that it makes you nervous, Hermione. I hope you know that's the most difficult part of all of this."

Hermione could feel the coil of fear springing slightly loose inside of her, and she knew she needed to do something to stop it at its root. "Will you come home with me tonight?"

* * *

Hermione had waited outside for Ron to pick up a few things to take to Hermione's house. They Apparated together, straight to her bedroom this time.

"Hey, do you mind if I take a shower?" he asked, lifting his bag to indicate he had brought his things in there.

"Sure, go ahead. I'll shower after you." She rose to her toes to give him a small kiss.

He was quick. He put a hand on her lower back, pulling her close to him. She almost lost her balance and had to lean on him to keep upright. He kissed her hard, his lips suddenly demanding.

He broke the kiss and cleared his throat. "Maybe..." he began, his voice deep, "maybe one day we'll do it together… instead of taking turns?"

Hermione felt the rush of blood that spiked and went crazy in her veins at the thought, leaving her slightly breathless. She didn't know how they had moved from an innocent, everyday conversation to Ron insinuating he wanted to shower with her, but she was beginning to like this new, more daring side of Ron.

"Yeah," she exhaled, "that would be good, one day."

"One day," he agreed, nodding. "We have to... uhm, get a little more comfortable with that kind of... nakedness, I guess."

She nodded as well. "I agree."

"Give you time to get used to my skinniness and sharp edges," he joked, although she could see in his eyes that he was serious about it, as well.

"I have my own insecurities," she shrugged, "so I also have to get used to the idea of you seeing me like that."

"How can you, possibly?" Ron said, his voice huskier, as his hand travelled down to grab her arse. "You're amazing."

She managed to raise an eyebrow despite her rushing heart. "You saying it doesn't mean I believe it, does it?"

"I suppose," he conceded, letting go. "I better take a shower now, before I-uhm, go too far. Abuse the privileges I have, and all that."

"I'll be waiting for my turn," she said as she saw him step outside of the room.

By the time she could go in under the shower's spray, the day's toll was weighing on her. It was past midnight; she was tired and a nagging sense of being worried kept her stomach in a knot. At the same time, her mind kept replaying Ron's sudden surge of libido, to the point she could start telling herself that her nervousness had been triggered more at that than everything else that had happened that day.

She had been honest when she said she had insecurities, but who didn't? Ron certainly did, as well. But maybe, by getting comfortable with each other, some of that would go away. Thinking about it, she put her hands on her waist, spanning her fingers open, moving them up and down the curve up to cup her breasts, and down again to rest on her hips. She couldn't help but be nervous about what he would think of her body, or how she'd react to his touch. And yet, if he was just half as curious about touching her and getting to know her body as she was about him, then they would probably be fine.

She dunked her head under the spray and started washing up in a business-like fashion, to stop her surging hormones from taking over.

Still, when she got into her room and saw him laying on top of the covers, looking at the ceiling, one of his feet under the other leg's knee; loose pajama pants and a shirt that was a tad too short, showing a tempting strip of skin; a hand under his head and the other playing with his navel; her hormones took over all the same.

She walked to him and saw him look at her, sleepy eyes roaming over her. "Are you tired, yet?" he asked.

She reached him and bent down. "I was," she said before kissing him eagerly. "You?"

"Not anymore," he said, evidently catching on to how she felt. He pulled her down for another kiss.

She climbed on top of him to reach the other side of the bed, never breaking the kiss, his hands guiding her by holding her waist. He then followed her, so that when she laid on her back, his torso was again half on top of her as they kissed. His hand moved from her waist and around her hip, fighting against the covers and her body to squirm its way under her arse. He firmly grabbed her then, and pulled her closer to him.

He must have remembered what he had learned about her earlier that day, because he stopped kissing her lips and moved onto her jaw, and down to her neck. He gave her a kiss there, and her breath hitched. She definitely still loved that, several hours after the fact.

She herself ran her fingers down his back, then up under his shirt, like she had done last time. He definitely still liked it, too, because he made a constrained sound against her neck. It caused a ripple to go down her skin, a tightening of her lower belly, a need to be close to him. In answer to that, she pushed him back, wanting to find a way to feel every inch of him. When she laid on top of his long body, she did.

She stopped mid kiss, her hands frozen on his shoulders, heart racing. He had quickly brought down his hands to her hips as they had rolled on the bed, trying to lift her up off him, but it was too late. She could feel it clearly, a hardness between her and him, poking into the top of her thigh. She slowly broke the kiss to lift her head and look down at him.

"Uhm... sorry..." he said, clearly embarrassed.

"Why are you sorry?"

"I didn't think... well, it's not quite how I thought you'd want this to go... you know, feeling me like this. I can't help it," he added, clearly thinking he needed to explain himself.

Curious, she squirmed a bit to feel him more clearly, still undecided about what she wanted to do about it.

He closed his eyes and groaned. " _That_ doesn't help it."

"Sorry," she said this time. "It just feels so... strange..."

"I'm pretty sure mine is quite normal-looking, thank you," he said opening his eyes to look at her.

"Is it, though? It feels like... I don't know, like we have something round… and thick—thickish? stuck between us, somehow." She grinded slightly again, pleased to see him swallow and closing his eyes once more.

"Now, that sounds _slightly_ better, I think, thanks," he replied huskily. His hands went up her hips and up her waist, to end up around her back. "Are you okay with this, then? With feeling me against you like this?"

She squirmed against him again, thoroughly enjoying his resulting groan, and how he had to push his head back against the pillow, exposing his neck to her. She kissed his adam's apple. "I am. I... I like knowing that being with me makes you feel like this."

"It does, so much," he said, lifting one of his hands to her hair, pulling her down for a kiss. "All the time. But when we're like this, so close, and we're kissing, I..." he didn't finish, but kissed her again and pushed her back so that it was him on top of her now.

Hermione hooked one of her arms around his neck, while the other roamed around his back, hips, arse, anywhere she could reach. They kept kissing like that, even when she felt one of his hands bump against the side of her breast on the way up to her face. This time, she knew that she had certainly not imagined it, and that he had probably done it on purpose.

She broke the kiss to look at him, trying to see in his eyes if he was planning to do something about it. He must have known what was on her mind, because she could see the sheepishness mixed with determination in them.

She knew he had wet his lips, even though they never broke eye contact. She could feel his fast breathing through his parted lips, his excitement an echo of her own.

His hand began its way downwards again, hovering over her until it stopped above her breast. She could see the question in his eyes, and she had barely nodded her approval when she felt the weight of it on her flesh, its warmth radiating through her shirt.

"Bloody hell," he said, shimmying down until he could drop his head to rest on her shoulder, to the other side of where his hand was cupping her.

His hand tentatively squeezed her breast, his hand big against her. She knew she was breathing fast and that he was, too. She was tingling in excitement and nervousness, wanting him to do more, but too terrified to say so. She had never been touched like that before.

"Is that... er, I mean, is that your... nipple? Uhm, puckering up against my finger?"

Unable to speak, she just nodded yes, hoping he noticed her answer.

"Fucking bloody brilliant," he breathlessly said. He squeezed again with no finesse, quite like one would choose a ripe avocado, Hermione thought, with barely enough presence of mind to find the humour in it. Then he unknowingly rubbed his hand against said nipple, sending a shiver down her spine, causing a moan to escape through her lips.

"Holy shit," he said, "I have to make you do that again," he announced before setting to work.

Thus they spent the next little while, too tired to do much more, and too excited to stop, until the clock announced it was almost two, and they were forced to accept they needed to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's the last day of Romione week on Tumblr, boooo, and today's chapter is my last submission for it. I hope you liked it!
> 
> As of next week, I will probably be posting new chapters on Friday or, if I can't make it on Friday, during the weekends. Hope everyone keeps enjoying the story and leaving me lovely reviews because = ME HAPPY. Thanks to everyone who's taken the time to leave a few (or more!) words for me to read and gush over!


	23. Chapter 23

The last of that day's applicants left the office, finally leaving Ron alone for a moment. He sat straight on his chair until he could clearly hear the click of the door coming to a close, a sure sign that nobody would see him. He waited one, two, three seconds, and then let himself release a long sigh as he relaxed his back and rested his head on his hands, his elbows on his desk. It had been an exhausting few hours.

It would have been easier if Ron felt competent at interviewing candidates. George had joined him for the first few ones, which had served as a good guide to learn a few tricks on how to be a boss and an employer-a skill he hadn't really practiced before, as he had exclusively worked with family and friends to date. But then they had really liked one of the candidates, and had asked her if she would start straight away. At Cassia's excited agreement, George had proceeded to take her for a shop tour and explain the basics while Ron continued with the next applicant. Ron knew for a fact that Ginny had taken over at some point, helping Cassia to learn the ropes as a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes worker, but George never returned. He had escaped, the wanker, putting all the responsibility on Ron's shoulders.

The experience had strongly reminded him of that feeling of inadequacy he had felt the day after the Battle of Hogwarts, when they had been helping to rebuild the castle and people had come to him for instructions and opinions. The social aspect of the interviews was all right, and so was reading the person in front of him. It was easy for him to know if the applicants were a good match for Wheezes or if their answers were somehow not completely truthful. So, even if he could get good answers, his problem was coming up with the appropriate questions. There weren't too many skills involved in the positions they were trying to fill up for the shop; the most important characteristics were that these people were honest and hard working.

_Are you honest?_

_Are you hard working?_

It was hard to come up with indirect ways of asking those questions over and over again, when usually Ron would have simply been direct and asked those questions straight.

Grunting softly in frustration, Ron straightened up again as he rubbed his face and ruffled his hair to get himself out of that mood. He needed to attend to the rest of the administrative tasks pending for that day.

He reached for his wand to summon the package of letters they had received earlier that day, unopened and forgotten to the side as Ron had been occupied. He shuffled through the bunch of envelopes, taking a quick survey of their possible contents: receipt, receipt, another resume, another receipt, three more resum-

His mind went blank when he saw his name written in Hermione's script in two of the envelopes. How the hell had they ended up in the shop, when Hermione had put his address as the Burrow? He left all the other envelopes on his desk to concentrate on Hermione's letters. A quick look over the thick paper showed him Muggle stamps, one of which was red and read _Dead Letter Office_ , like the ones he had received the day he had kissed Hermione. Then, scribbled underneath in black ink, _Department of Muggle-Wizard Communications._ There was no doubt, those were more of the letters that Hermione had sent him from Australia. Why had they arrived to the shop, then? Was it just how this Department worked? And why had they taken so long? If his dad hadn't looked into it directly in the Ministry, he might not have gotten the letters to this day-and he didn't want to think what the implications for his relationship with Hermione were!

Making a note to ask his dad that night about what was going on-and to thank him again for getting the other letters earlier-he opened the oldest one and read its contents. After finishing it and without allowing for time to think about it, he read the next one in a flash. Once he knew the second letter didn't contain any major revelations, he went back to the first letter to read it in detail again.

As much as Hermione had tried to hide it in her words, Ron could read between the lines. It was obvious to him that Hermione had only written about her anxiety episodes because she had wanted to tell him about the burst of unintentional magic, and how it had been horrible to go through but made her hopeful. He believed what she had said, that she hadn't wanted to worry him unnecessarily, but it still bothered him. He knew that, if he had gotten that letter in time, back when Hermione was still in Australia, he would have gone bonkers with worry at reading what was obviously a failed attempt at minimizing the situation.

Ron laid the letter on his desk and sighed once more, thinking back to their visit to the therapist the day before. Ron had arranged for Ginny and George to take over while he accompanied Hermione to the doctor's office, wanting to support her through a meeting he knew she was consenting to only for his sake. She had gone in the room by herself, and Ron had waited outside feeling terribly out of place. He had tried to distract himself with reading the pamphlets and posters around him, but had quickly abandoned it: they talked about several mental illnesses and treatments, which was doing nothing to lessen his nervousness.

After a while, the door had opened and a teary-eyed Hermione had motioned him in. He had hesitated only a moment, to then get up in a hurry and a jumble of limbs to go to her. She had signaled him to sit on a chair next to her and he sat down anxiously, wondering what it was all about. He had looked at the Muggle therapist straight away, as impassive as he could pretend to be, afraid that somehow he'd let it slip he was a wizard—despite the fact he knew that she was married to one. Feeling Hermione reaching for his hand and not letting go did a great deal to calm him down.

They had simply talked. First Hermione had told him that everything was all right, and that there was a real chance that she could go on without the pills. The woman in front of him, who insisted that he call her by her first name, Laura, had explained that, since Hermione was a competent adult, therapy options were her choice. She had explained to Hermione how pills could help, and what the other alternatives entailed. Because Hermione had decided to continue without the pills, Laura had explained to them in great detail the rationale for grounding and relaxation techniques as an adequate treatment, and what that looked like in practice.

Ron wanted to complain about Hermione's stubbornness regarding the pills, but had relented when he had realised that Hermione looked truly happy and at peace with the options Laura was offering. Hermione mentioned several times that she had noticed how she had indeed experienced the benefit of grounding exercises in controlling her anxiety, even if she didn't know that was the name for it. Once he had accepted that this was how Hermione wanted to deal with her episodes, and reassured in that Laura did confirm the techniques were effective when used appropriately, Ron had devoted himself to understanding the logic of it and the practical use of the different exercises. He had asked a thousand questions that, in retrospect, made him wonder at who had the kind of patience to deal with people like them all the time.

They had returned to the shop a couple of hours later and, although Ron had felt slightly overwhelmed just thinking of all the things he needed to remember just in case-breathing slowly, focus on your senses, how to detect when Hermione might need actual medical help, what to do if the attacks persisted-, seeing Hermione smile and thank him for his support between kisses had made him decide to trust they would figure it out.

Reading her letter and what he now imagined had happened made him get nervous all over again. Before he could think about it any more, a knock on his door had him putting the letters away in a hurry.

"Can I come in?" Harry's voice came through the door, distracting Ron.

"Sure, mate, come in!" Ron yelled out, and waited for Harry to appear behind the opening door as he closed his drawer with Hermione's letters inside.

"Hi, Ron," Harry greeted with a casual and brief wave of his hand, coming in and sitting in front of Ron. "How are things around here?"

"Good. Did you see the new hire?"

"Yeah, Ginny introduced us. She seems really nice."

"Right? And grew up helping her parents in their own shop, so she has experience and likes the business, too. Said that though her parents had to close their store during the war, she's hoping to reopen it in a few years."

"Wicked," Harry commented, yawning.

"What are you doing here so early, anyway? You look tired," he commented, noticing Harry's deepened lines around the eyes.

"Well, thanks for that," Harry said with a smirk. "They set us free earlier today, what with it being Friday and having a full weekend ahead of time to rest. They said to enjoy it, because things are going to get tougher on Monday."

"Shit, Harry," Ron exclaimed, "That sounds like a lot."

"It is. Really, I don't know how you're going to do it while working here."

Ron shrugged dismissively. "I reckon I'll figure something out. For now, the plan is to get people to help here. Hopefully that'll be good enough to work fewer hours once training starts."

"Yeah, definitely. No way you can keep working full time like this and do Auror training at the same time."

Ron scoffed in order to hide how worried he suddenly got. He scratched an imaginary itch on his forehead. "Thanks for the heads up, I suppose. But what are you doing here, then? You should be at home, resting!"

"Came to pick up Ginny," he replied.

Ron checked his watch. "It's still three hours to closing," he said.

Harry shrugged. "I'll wait. I can help out a bit if you need."

"Sure, if you like. It would really help, since Hermione is gone to her meeting with McGonagall. Aren't you tired, though?"

"I can still get up and do stuff, thanks," Harry declared, giving Ron a look. Ron rolled his eyes, looking for a witty remark to say, but stopped himself when he took another look at his friend. He knew his appraisal was right when he saw Harry biting the side of his mouth, a clear sign that he wanted to say something.

After a moment, Harry continued talking. "So, when are you moving out?"

"I don't know yet. You know I've done a bit of packing; you've seen the boxes in my room. I guess maybe next week sometime?"

"Has George said anything?"

"Yeah, that he wants out as soon as possible," Ron commented. "Why?"

"Well... I told you the other day that I feel a bit strange about staying at The Burrow once you leave..."

Ron laid back in his chair with a sigh, preparing for a discussion with Harry. He crossed his arms over his chest. "You know that's bollocks, don't you?"

"Don't start with that, Ron," Harry complained. "What does it matter what you think is bollocks or isn't? _I_ feel weird about it."

"But you and I both know that you're often wrong about those things," Ron argued. "Why should you feel weird?"

"Well..." Harry began, automatically lifting one of his hands to fit his glasses better on the bridge of his nose. The hand continued up afterwards, now to ruffle his hair in a sign of his discomfort. "I mean, I know it was ages ago, but... you invited me over, right? I'm there as your friend. So it'd be a bit awkward if you leave, isn't it?"

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron exclaimed, squirming in his chair a bit, uncomfortable. "How many times do we have to explain you're like part of the family? You're not there only as my guest, or you forget you're my little sister's boyfriend? I'm sure she's not happy that you're thinking of leaving. Do you really want to make her mad?" he added.

Harry laughed, and Ron was glad to see it. It made the conversation a bit easier. "She does execute a few rather amazing jinxes flawlessly."

"Exactly!"

"Still, though. I don't know, I was thinking that maybe I can look for a flat somewhere in Diagon Alley, if at all possible, or somewhere in London. I don't really fancy living at Grimmauld Place, to be honest, not like this."

"C'mon, mate. Stay at the Burrow. Maybe you don't feel like it's home-"

"But it is," Harry said suddenly, to then clear his throat. "Or as close to one as can be, I suppose. More than Hogwarts, in a way, now."

"Then why leave it?" Ron asked again, confused and frustrated. He tapped his foot on the floor. "Because I'm not there? I told you, take over one of the empty rooms. Nobody is going to be cross at you for that. And if you need an invitation, I can very easily give Ginny the grand idea of officially inviting you to stay there until she leaves for Hogwarts, at least."

"You would do that, wouldn't you?" Harry stated, smiling.

"I would. And then, when Ginny leaves, I can always enlist Mum. You know how _that_ will go, if you don't have an excuse good enough," he scoffed.

"Like yours?" Harry asked.

Ron looked down, at a loss of how to reply to that besides the already-used, "George needs it, and I want to help him."

"I know, I get it, of course. It's just that... well..."

Ron looked up to his friend again, knowing before he spoke what he was thinking. He chewed on his lip for a bit, before speaking up before Harry could continue. "I know," he said. "I thought we would end up living together, too, sometime in the future, as our careers as Aurors took up and all." He gulped.

"Yeah. But like you said, maybe we can still make that happen... in the future. Once George is better and can live on his own."

Ron nodded, unable to utter any words.

"All right, then," Harry said, standing up and turning away to leave the office awkwardly. "I'll go help out there, there are a lot of people here right now."

"Sure, sounds good, mate," Ron replied, both amused at Harry's escape and thankful that they had managed to talk a bit about the issue, even if not in all the depth it required.

He saw Harry leave the room, turning the last minute to give him a smile. Ron smiled back, pleased that, at least, it seemed he had convinced Harry to stay at the Burrow for a while longer... and happy to know that his friend finally had a place he felt like home, after all these years.

* * *

 

Ron used his wand to seal the latest box he had filled up, a strip of shimmering, magical rope automatically wrapping itself around it to secure it closed. Sorting through his possessions was a daunting task, not because of the amount of things-he didn't own much-but because of the meaning held behind the chore.

He was moving out to live with George. He would be sleeping in what used to be Fred's bedroom. And none of it was like he would have liked it to be.

It was such a strange situation. Even if spending most of the year at Hogwarts had already served to make him feel like his room was not as much _his_ safe space anymore, it was when they had left the Burrow to go hunting Horcruxes that he had thought he had left his parents' home to start his own life. Even then, he would sometimes dream of his bed, short as it was for him, and of going to his room after a filling home-made meal. When they had returned to the Burrow after the battle, going to his room had held mixed feelings: the familiarity of what had been his own growing up, and the absurdity of a place that surrounded him with the innocence of thinking that the Cannons being last place again was the worst that would happen to him that year. He knew so much better now.

Still, even if his room didn't quite feel the same anymore; even if he felt like he was too grown up and too experienced to keep his room as it was, he hadn't wanted to make changes to it. In mourning and in limbo, his life had been on hold for the first few weeks of his return, and a wistful nostalgia of the innocent boy he had once been had stopped him from changing his room.

But now he was leaving, and he knew he had to decide what he'd leave behind and what he would take with him. What was a part of that old Ron, and what would be taken to belong to Ron's new life, as a businessman and an Auror trainee.

If thinking these kind of thoughts didn't show he had grown up, he didn't know what would.

He looked at the group of boxes stacked up and thought about taking them to the flat, so that they wouldn't be getting in the way. He made a mental note to do so later, and turned to continue selecting which clothes were too small or too old to keep... and was thankful to think that he was going to have a wage, because he was in serious need of some extra pieces.

Yes, making some money would definitely go on the _positives_ list. On the other half of the page, he would write that he had never wanted to move out this way. On the positive, again, that he would have more freedom; more privacy. On the negatives, that he was leaving his parents when they still needed to feel that their family was safe. To top it all off, the main reason he was doing this was so that he would be able to take care of George, keeping him company and keeping track of him. That was the biggest issue, and he was terrified that he wasn't going to be good enough at it, and that he couldn't really ask for help: George had insisted that Ron keep the secret of his most important reason to move out. But George had assured him it would be enough, and that things were going to be all right, if he was willing to do this. So Ron would make himself willing, and deal with the consequences as they came.

A familiar set of steps coming up the stairs to his room distracted him from his somber thoughts, putting a smile on his face. Without having to wait for her knock, he knew Hermione was there and was coming up to him. He took a long step and opened the door for her, to find her raising her arm to announce her arrival.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise, unaware that Ron had heard her arrive.

"Hey," he said, dropping the shirt he had been holding on the floor, and using his now-free hands to grab her by the waist and slowly bring her to him for a gentle kiss.

He felt the tension of the unexpected greeting in her body, followed by the melting of it as the kiss continued. Her hand grabbed his shoulders as he felt the weight of her body resting against his. Feeling her relax against him and accept his embrace let him release his own preoccupations.

"Hi," she whispered afterwards. "That was... quite the welcome," she commented with a smile.

Ron laughed, letting go of her and turning to recover his shirt from the floor. "I guess I needed the distraction," he explained.

"Is it difficult? Finally moving out of your parents' home, officially?" She said from behind him as he quickly half-folded his shirt to put it in a new box. He heard her coming closer to him, reaching into his closet to help him sort through his clothes.

"Yeah, I was just thinking about that. Especially... well, especially because of how it's happening."

"I know," she said, lifting a shirt by the shoulders to judge its size. She dropped it into the discarded pile. "This is not what you had imagined, was it?"

"No, it isn't. Though to be honest, I only had very vague ideas of what I did want to happen," he continued, shrugging. "I thought I'd move in with Harry somewhere, at some point. That was about it, really."

She was checking on another shirt, which she now put in the box. "Oh, yeah? Was I in the picture anywhere?" she asked as she gave him a cheeky smile, her eyebrow raised in question.

"In my bed, usually," Ron joked, and Hermione laughed.

Hermione picked up a pair of trousers to inspect them. "So you and I sharing a bedroom, and the both of us living with Harry? Or was I officially living somewhere else but somehow sharing the bed with you?"

"I hadn't really figured out all the details, to be honest," Ron said as he retrieved more of his clothes from his closet. "Bloody hell, I'm going to need to buy loads of new clothes, aren't I?"

"What's this?" Hermione asked, and he lifted his eyes to check what had made Hermione's voice sound so confused. He momentarily froze when he saw the book she was reaching for.

"No, nothing!" he blurted, frantically thinking of as many strategies to get out of this situation as possible. He tried to reach for the old gift in her hands, even if he knew it was too late to hide it from her.

"Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to... to Charm Witches?!" she incredulously questioned as she quickly flipped through the book.

Ron gulped. "Hermione, this is not what you think..."

"What do I think, tell me?" she said, looking back at him. He couldn't read her expression, which only added to his rising panic.

"It was a gift," he began explaining in a rus, not even attempting to guess what she was actually thinking. "Fred and George gave it to me. They said they knew I needed help and yeah, I did, but that's not the point, is it?" he continued, nonsensically. "I mean, go ahead and read it, check how much of it I've actually tried. I only used the nice things, didn't I? Even _I_ knew I shouldn't try to just get you in my bed for the sake of it! I wanted more, right? I mean, the book includes a lot of things, not only in _that_ sense but also in the romantic sense and yeah, I hope to put into practice more of it in the future, but I forget about it anyway when we're in the middle of... doing things," he whispered. "My thoughts are not necessarily in the things I've read when we're, you know," he insisted, once again whispering the words that implied any fooling around. "But it was really good to have, back then, to learn how to show you I cared, right? It explained why I needed to be nicer to you, and I tried, I swear I did. I know I failed often. I'm sorry about that. I will try harder. Just tell me, I'll do it. Yeah, I'm sorry. I... yeah."

He gulped again, waiting for her reaction; images of a horrifying row, worse than any fight they had ever had, taking over his brain.

"When did the twins give this to you?"

"Uhm... after... I mean, the summer before Bill's wedding," Ron answered, biting his lip. He found her lack of answer unsettling.

"So your sudden change that summer; the nice things you said... it was because of this book?"

Ron looked at the floor, desolated and scared. All he dared to hope for was that she would not break up with him; and even if she did, he knew he'd beg her to take him back.

"Some of it," he replied, dread beginning to give way to gloom. "Like I said, I forget its advice half the time. But I did use it. You know, hoping you'd notice I could be nice if I put some effort to it."

"Have you used it with somebody else?"

"What?! No!" Ron said, now indignant on top of misery, looking at her again. "I've never truly wanted to be with anybody else, even when I was!"

"So you read this book and tried to use it to _charm_ me?"

Her impassive face was nerve-wracking. "I'd use _love_ there, but yeah. I'm sorry."

"Oh, Ron, you are so sweet," she asserted as she left the book back in the shelf where she had found it. She stepped close to him, surrounding his waist with her arms and resting her head on his chest.

"Wait... what?" he said, automatically wrapping his arms around her. Even in his confusion, he was thankful, and truly curious as to how she had possibly happened to react like that.

"Why would it bother me that you used a book? Don't I use books for everything?"

"But this is different..."

"It would be if you had used it to seduce many girls, or to seduce me and then discard me. Is that your plan?"

"Hermione! How can you ask that?" he questioned, scandalized. "I would never! I love you! I want to be with you and, as long as we are together, that's all I need."

"I know. I feel the same. I love you, too."

"Bloody hell, Hermione," he complained, nevertheless resting his chin on the top of her head. "Don't freak me out like that again. You could have said you were all right with it! I almost had a stroke trying to explain the whole thing to you!"

She laughed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do it. I was trying to understand."

"Only you would think reading a book on how to make you fall in love with me was a _sweet_ thing."

"Only you would think that a book was necessary, when I thought it was obvious I've been in love with you since I was sixteen."

Ron smiled, wishing he could tell his own sixteen-year-old self this. It would have saved them both a lot of heartache. Still, he decided to talk about something else. "Wait, so I've fancied you the longest?" he asked, leaning back to see her face.

Hermione smiled. "I said I've been in love with you since I was sixteen. But I've fancied you longer than that."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he questioned again, awestruck that she had felt like that for so long, and yet he had doubted it the whole time.

"I was afraid," she replied, shrugging.

"Yeah, me too. And yet, you wrote that letter."

"I did," she agreed, reaching up to kiss him.

"I love you, Hermione," he said as they came apart.

"I love you, Ron," she replied.

And there they stayed, hugging, thinking of all the years of longing and uncertainty they had left behind.

* * *

 

"I'm sorry," Ron said a while later, after they had gone back to packing more of his things. "I never asked. How was your meeting with McGonagall?"

"Oh," she said, summoning several of his shirts. She was now sitting on his bed, helping him to decide what to keep and what was too old for saving… and collecting a pile of a few shirts she wanted for herself. "It was good. She explained to me what being a Head Girl means, which is basically like being a Prefect but _more_. I'll have to coordinate and supervise what the Prefects do, and join in faculty meetings as the House's representative for the students. She said there are several changes occurring this year, and one of them is going to make the student body more participative. There are a couple of meetings scheduled for before the school year begins, one late this month and one in mid-August."

"Sounds like a lot of work. Are you going to be fine with all of that?"

Hermione shrugged. "I think so. It will keep me busy. I'll be taking N.E.W.T. exams, too, so I think that I'll find many ways to distract me from the fact that I'm back at school without you or Harry."

"But you have to do more than just work, yeah? I don't want you burning out, Hermione."

"I knew you were going to say that," she commented. " _Who's going to remind you to eat, Hermione? Who's going to convince you to take a break, Hermione?_ I could hear your voice in my mind the whole time!"

She smiled when she saw him smirk.

"But it's true, isn't it? Who's going to do it, if I'm not there?" he argued.

"Relax. The one thing I asked McGonagall is that Ginny and I share a room. That will help."

Ron sighed. "I don't know if Ginny will convince you, though. _I_ couldn't, half the time!"

"You can always send me a letter every day, to make sure I remember," Hermione suggested, both heartbroken that they would be apart but refusing to think of it, and happy at the thought that maybe he would manage to actually write to her that often.

"A Howler is more like it," Ron joked. "No, but seriously. I'll write often. Will you write back?"

"Of course," Hermione said, looking at him after noticing his sudden change of tone of voice, wondering what had brought it to the surface. "I'll write every day."

"And will you tell me if something bad happens? Will you let me know?"

"Ron? What do you mean?" she asked, suspecting where this was going, but unsure of what to do about it.

"You know, if you're stressing too much, or worse, you have more... episodes."

"Well, I hope that won't happen," she began, but he interrupted her. He dropped what he had in his hands and kneeled on the floor in front of her as she remained on his bed.

"Me too. But it might. And I'd like to know if it does... even if you're just hiding it in an attempt at not making me _worry unnecessarily_."

"Oh..." Hermione said, getting the reference and worried that he was cross at her. "I take it you got the rest of my letters?"

"I did. Hermione," Ron began, clearly trying to think of the right way to say what he wanted to say. She barely had a moment to wonder at it, at how different it was from his usual rash words and temper, when he continued. "I know you hid it from me, and finally only told me because otherwise I wouldn't understand where that burst of uncontrolled magic came from. Don't do that again, please."

"When did you get my letters?"

"This afternoon. But it doesn't matter, does it? The point is that I'm asking you to promise you'll let me know what's going on with you. I don't want to be scared that there might be things you're going through and that you're hiding from me."

"You've been thinking about this, preparing for this conversation," Hermione insisted, still undecided as to what to say, or what the possible consequences were of what Ron was asking her to promise to him.

"Of course I've been! And don't change the subject," he insisted, his temper flaring for the first time. "I know you well enough that I can read between the lines. If I had gotten that letter when I was meant to, and read about what was going on with you, I'd have gone mad with worry. I would have known it was worse than you were letting on, exactly because you implied it had been happening for a while. Why hide it, if it wasn't serious? If it didn't scare you?"

"But you couldn't have done anything!" Hermione defended herself, even if she knew Ron was asking just out of concern. "What was the point? Yes, maybe that letter would have worried you, but if I had told you what was happening before then, you would have only worried longer. What's the point in that?"

"Again, that's not what I'm trying to talk about here! It's about you letting me know what's going on with you. I would have done something about it!"

"Like what? Go to Australia, even when the borders were closed?"

"Okay, no, I couldn't have done that. But I could have gone to the phone in the village and called you! I could have sent you a... I don't know, a gift, somehow, to make you smile. I don't know what I would have done, but I would have figured something out!"

Hermione was touched by his impassioned words, and at the very thought that he would have gone to all that trouble for her, even back when they weren't together yet.

"That would have meant the world to me," Hermione whispered, her heart fluttering at such strong proof of how much he cared about her.

"Please, tell me that you'll let me know if you're stressing too much, or if anything else happens. I may not be able to go to you, but maybe I can still figure out something to make it easier for you."

She lifted her hand to his face, the tenderness she was feeling fully reflected on her face. "I promise. No more hiding things, no more secrets between us."

"It's a deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have writer's block. I'm worried that I'll end up posting all the chapters I have in my "buffer" and we'll catch up to the latest written chapter and then what happens?!??!? Ugh, I don’t even want to think about that. I need to be able to write again. Worse thing is I know exactly what should happen from here on out………….. I just need to find my mojo? My feels? Help me out???


	24. An Idea

A bell rang in the air three times, this time having nothing to do with the wards Hermione had set around her home. It was a Muggle sound: the alarm that told Hermione the dryer was done.

Hermione smiled as she took the clothes from the machine, full of her bounty; half of them were Ron's old shirts. She had gotten him to give her those that were too small for him anymore but perfect for her to sleep in. She took it all up to her room, folding each piece carefully, looking for that special one. The Chudley Cannons one, black with the team's emblem dead center on the front and a name she didn't recognize on the back.

Ron had looked at it adoringly the night before, telling her that the name in the back was of one of the good players the team had had—mediocre player to all other teams' standards, but a pretty decent one for the Cannons. It had been one of Ron's most prized possessions; a gift given to him for his birthday many years ago, and which no one had owned before. He had loved that shirt so much that he had never actually worn it, in fact.

"Bloody waste," Ron had said. "Took such good care of it that I never actually got to enjoy it! Too small for me, now. It'll look better on you, anyway..."

And even if Hermione knew he had thought she'd wear it to sleep, she had not corrected him. She wasn't planning to use it to sleep; it was practically new! Instead, she had decided she would surprise him that day by wearing it. Even if a bit small even for her — he had to have gotten it many, _many_ years ago! — she thought it would bring a smile to his face.

She got ready for the day and left her house to go to work. She Apparated to the alley behind the shop, and went in in search of Ron.

With a sigh, Hermione thought of how much she was hoping that her little surprise would actually give him some joy. She was worried about him, because she knew he had many mixed feelings about moving in with George, and that he wasn't that excited about it. But, soft-hearted as he was—no matter how much he'd deny it if she were to say it—, he was doing it to help George get better.

She heard a noise coming from the flat above the shop as soon as she had left the storeroom. With a slight jump and taking her wand out just in case, she proceeded to check for what had made the noise... relaxing as soon as she heard Ron's voice curse.

"Fuck!" his muffled voice came through the closed door up the stairs. It was the sound of someone who was inconvenienced, but she heard no threat in his voice.

With a smile, she went up the stairs, now hearing George's muffled voice, and the laugh that followed it.

"Hi!" she called as she came into the flat. "Heard you guys were here!"

"Hi, Hermi— holy shit, look at you in that shirt!"

Hermione couldn't help but smile, even if she tried to hide it. She was proud that her little plan had worked.

He came to hug her, his body blocking her from George's view, and kissed her passionately yet demurely. He had liked her wearing that shirt, all right, and had needed to show her even if they weren't alone. She swore to herself that she'd wear the shirt often.

"Oi, none of that while I'm around!" George complained from behind Ron. "Keep that to your new room, Ron, and remember to use a silencing spell!"

Ron broke the kiss slowly at that, to then turn around and hold Hermione's hand as if nothing had happened. "I'm just kissing my girlfriend, here. Since when are you such a prude?"

"Who would have thought that the same guy that gifted Ron a book to help him charm witches, would be so opposed to the results of his endeavours? Make up your mind, George."

Ron laughed, while George whistled. "She's feisty, too!" the latter said. "Keep it to the room, all right? That's all I ask."

"Shut up, George," Ron said, good naturedly but firm.

"Fine, fine. I'm done here, anyway." George announced as he walked to the door, apparently unfazed. "I'll go downstairs now; the new order should be coming in any minute now."

Once he was gone, Hermione turned to look at Ron again, who had let go of her hand and was now levitating a few boxes. He was taking them to what would be his room. She followed him.

"So you liked my surprise?" she asked as she looked around the room. She had never been there before, and was curious about what it would look like, even if she also felt a bit unsettled.

"Oh, yeah," Ron agreed, as he left the boxes on the floor in front of the bed. "I'm glad I gave it to you; it looks really, really good on you. Almost makes me feel like you're a fan of the Cannons, too; totally brilliant."

Smiling at his words, she took the opportunity to look around. The room, one of two in the flat, was big enough to fit a double bed at the center of the opposing wall, a bedside table on each side. A window allowed for natural light to come in and, once she looked out, realised it opened to the alley behind the shop where she had just Apparated. On the other side wall, the one that divided both rooms, there stood a big closet, its open doors letting her see that it was empty. The door was to the foot of the bed, sharing the wall with a dresser and a mirror. There were no decorations, no signs that Fred has lived there before. Wondering about it, she turned her eyes to Ron, to check how he was doing.

He was watching her, sadness in his eyes. As if reading her mind, he began answering the question she had not made yet.

"Fred had taken most of his things when they went into hiding," he explained. "When we were cleaning the shop to reopen it, we put away the little that was left, Ginny, Harry, and I. We put it all away, in the attic at home. I guess that's a blessing, right now."

Hermione came to him, her arms around his waist and her head on his chest, just like she had the night before. And, just like last time, his arms surrounded her.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I wish I could do something to make it all better," she said, her voice muffled against his shirt.

"It's fine, really," he countered. "I had only been in the flat a couple of times before, and never in this room. That's good, because it means I don't have many memories of Fred in this place, and none at all of him in this room. I think... it's almost... it's the easy way out, isn't it? My memories of Fred are at the Burrow and at Hogwarts, mostly. I'm afraid... I'm scared that not being in either that often might make me stop thinking about him as much," he admitted in a whisper.

"Oh, no, don't think like that," she admonished him, lifting her head to look at him.

"But it's true," he insisted, tearing up but holding it back. When he spoke again, his voice was slightly constricted, and Hermione could feel her own throat closing up in sympathy. "It's the whole point of moving here; it's why George thinks it'll help him. Because memories of Fred are not so powerful here."

"Ron, listen, life might make you think of many other things; time will make sure that grieving and thinking of Fred fall to the background. It doesn't mean you're failing his memory or that you miss him any less, or that you love him any less. It's just how it is. It's okay to move on. Don't feel guilty for it. You'll always remember him, and that's what matters."

He sighed, and reached with a hand to dry his eyes, even if no tears had escaped. He finally nodded, reluctantly agreeing with her.

"I wasn't here when this all had just happened. I'm so sorry, Ron. But I'm here now, and I'm not letting go. I'll be with you, now."

"I know," he said, bending down to kiss her. "I know."

* * *

 

The tea was sweet on Ron's tongue and exactly what he needed. Closing his eyes, he enjoyed its taste as he tried to put all of his attention on it. Just a distraction, to ease his mind. He needed a break, badly.

Pushing the thought out of his mind, he tried to make himself productive by filing the receipts they had received that day and comparing the debts to the money they were making. True, it was lunch time and no one would blame him if he stopped working for a while, but he wanted to go home early that day and needed to get this done. He wouldn't have time later, what with all the interviews they had scheduled for that afternoon...

Hermione came through the door to his office, smiling at him as she closed the door behind her. Yeah, maybe he'd be taking a break, after all.

She came around his desk and sat on it, to his side. "Hey. Did you eat already?"

"Uh-huh," he confirmed. He lifted one of his arms and rested it on the desk next to her, so that his fingers could casually touch her leg. She started bouncing them back and forth in the air. "You? How was the call with your parents?"

"Yes, I had something. It was good. I explained I wanted to talk to them early today—my time—because I wanted to go to your home tonight, to help you pack. I think... I'm pretty sure they know something's going on between us."

Ron scoffed, softly pinching her leg. She swatted his hand to the side in complaint, even if she smiled at it. He went back to just running the tips of his fingers on the side of her leg, and she went back to letting him, still bouncing her legs.

"There's _something_ between us, all right," Ron commented. "You still didn't confirm anything, though?"

"No, not yet... I think... the timing is not right, still. We've only been together for two weeks, too."

"Might be," Ron conceded, still not completely happy about the situation but still deciding to trust her plan. "As long as you tell them sometime _before_ we're married, I suppose."

He knew he had said something shocking when her legs stopped in mid air, her body freezing at his words. His fingers froze, too, as he quickly went over what he had said.

"Oh," Ron said as he realised what he had implied. He pulled his arm back, his fingers curling into a fist in front of his chest, as if he was trying to stop himself from touching her again. He wasn't, though; he was just trying to stop himself from doing anything stupid... like telling her he wanted to marry her. "Shit. I meant, as long as you tell them. Period. When is up to you. I'm fine with that. The other thing... well, it's—it's not that I think we will..."

"You don't?" she asked during the time he had been looking for the right words, and the quiver in her voice, the hint of it that had escaped though it was obvious she had tried to repress it, made him quickly reconsider his strategy. She held his eyes for a moment, but then looked down as she waited for his answer.

"Like, I'm not taking it for granted, right?" He got up and stood in front of her, his hands reaching to hold her shoulders, slumping down but lifting his face so he could still look at her eyes. Sensing that she might have actually wanted to think about them together in the future, getting married, made him yell silently in delight—but before he did anything about it outwardly, he needed to know what she was actually feeling. "We're too young, now, but... maybe—I mean, in the future, yeah? We're too young. Everyone is going to say so. But if you wanted... I mean, you said yourself we've only been together for two weeks. But what—what do _you_ think?"

She lifted her face and he straightened up to look down to her. She looked him in the eye, open and vulnerable, but pointing her chin forward in a defiant gesture.

"I don't know why we would have to care so much about what anybody else had to say in the matter, honestly—" she began, but Ron interrupted her with a chuckle.

"And yet, you haven't even told your parents that I'm your boyfriend."

"It's a totally different issue, Ron. I'm not doing it because of what they'll say about you—rather, about us—but because of the magic."

"So if they're against us, for some reason, whenever you tell them, you're going to be fine with it?"

"They won't be against us. They may not be thrilled in the beginning, but... but... oh, god, I— I just had an idea!" She turned in her spot on the desk and jumped down, a hand in the air motioning as if she was counting, her mouth moving slightly as if she was talking to herself.

"Hermione?" Ron asked, absolutely confused by the sudden interruption and change in the mood.

"I have to do something first," Hermione said as she left the office. "I'll be back in a few minutes!"

Dumbfounded, Ron shook his head to clear it, before continuing without thinking. "Well, are you going to marry me or not?!" he yelled to her back without thinking.

He followed her and stopped at the door, seeing her disappearing into the storeroom to possibly Disapparate from there. Then he looked around the place as if looking for the answer there, to see Harry looking at him with shock plastered all over his face. The looked morphed into an amused smirk.

"It's not what you think," Ron explained, annoyed more than anything that things had been left interrupted like that.

"I fully expect to be your best man, though," Harry finally said.

"Stop it, I know what it sounds like, but—"

Harry interrupted him by lifting his hands in a defensive manner, as if he was simply an innocent bystander. "It's all right by me. I'm trying to take everything lightly, today, anyway."

* * *

 

Ron sat down in his chair again, feeling annoyed and confused and yeah, a bit dejected. He didn't know what he had expected; he knew he hadn't been as coherent as he should have, but that didn't diminish his reaction. He felt as if he had indeed proposed to Hermione, but she had declined to answer to his offer. Who knew, maybe that idea she mentioned wasn't an idea at all, and just an excuse not to answer him. Maybe... maybe she just didn't have the heart to tell him her answer was no? But if that was the case, why had she sounded disappointed?

Not ten minutes had passed when Hermione came back, stepping into his office again and closing the door behind her once more.

"I have news," she said, her smile bright and unaffected.

"Yeah?" he asked without enthusiasm, not knowing what the hell to expect at this point.

"I know it's a bit crazy, and we won't have much time to make it work, but I think it'll be worth it. We'll have to do it Muggle style, I expect, because my parents are going to want to be involved. I'm sure your parents are going to understand that we're doing it that way... though I don't think they're going to like the idea, really. But if they've accepted that you're moving out, maybe they'll accept this, right? We'll have to prepare the shop ahead of time, of course, but I'm sure we can do it with all the new hires..."

Hermione had sat on the same spot on his desk as before, talking non-stop as if to herself. Ron, trying to decipher her intentions, went suddenly very still. Muggle style? Prepare the shop? Their parents?

"Uhm, Hermione?" he said. "What are you talking about?"

She looked at him with the same smile, evidently incredibly happy. He just looked back at her, expectant, sure he was about to hear about sudden wedding arrangements and possible dates. "I think we should go to Australia together!"

It took his brain a moment to decipher her words, correct his feelings, and react.

"What the hell, Hermione? I thought you were talking about us getting married!" Ron complained.

"...What?!" Hermione exclaimed, shocked at his words. "Why on earth would you think that?"

"Because that's what we were talking about before you stormed off!" he explained, his voice raised.

Anticipating a row, he reached for his wand and both sealed the door and set a silencing spell. He didn't want to be interrupted, nor people overhearing them again.

"But you said you didn't mean it! That _maybe_ sometime in the future, but that it wasn't something you were thinking of right now! It was you who said _everyone_ would agree it was not a good idea for us to get married!"

"Yeah, but I was fumbling my way around asking you what you thought about the idea of it, for us, in the future! I had already let slip what I think, I was hoping to hear what _you_ think!"

"Oh, Ron," she huffed dismissively. "We've been together for two weeks, and it's not like you were proposing, was it?"

"No," he replied, stung, "and now that I know you're not so into it, I'll remember not to mention it again. I'm not looking to be such a fool, telling you such things, if they're going to offend you so much!"

"I'm not offended! I just— I thought you didn't mean it, and that really what you were trying to discuss was—was me not telling my parents that we're together—" she tried to clarify, slightly fumbling. "Were you... really talking about us getting married in the future?" she added in a different voice, full of wonder this time.

But Ron was still feeling hurt, and only shrugged dejectedly as he looked down to the floor, crossing his arms.

"I'm sorry, Ron," she said this time, half disbelieving, half shocked. "I wasn't sure I could believe my ears when you first mentioned marriage, I mean, I didn't think you would be thinking about it so soon! And then... then you were talking about all the reasons why it wasn't a good idea to talk about it and I honestly thought you were trying to say you didn't mean it, while trying to spare my feelings."

"Well, you were wrong. I know it's been only two weeks, but I've been in love with you much longer than that, haven't I? Years. Whenever I think of the future, I think of us being together. Doesn't matter if I think of myself as a twenty or a forty year old, you're there. What does that mean if not marriage? At least in my world, that's what it means."

"I don't care what it means in the world. I care that that's how you feel."

"You still haven't told me what _you_ think, dammit!" Ron complained again.

"I have been in love with you for a long time, too, right? I've never been the kind of girl to dream of her wedding, but... but I'll admit to you that yeah, I do know I'd like to marry you one day."

Ron left out a big, annoyed huff of breath. "Why couldn't you just say so? I was feeling like such a twat, implying I wanted to marry you only two weeks into our relationship."

"Oh, Ron," she said, stepping down and sitting on his lap, her legs to one of his sides, her arms around his neck. "This conversation is going so wrong. I never meant to make you think I didn't want to marry you. And yet, it's not like we're talking about getting married; not any time soon, anyway. So why are we fighting?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry. It's been a crazy day... and I thought... well, I thought I had to squelch that little hope of mine."

"You don't. But we have to do so much first. I have to graduate from Hogwarts and get a good job. You need to finish training and all that..."

"I know," he agreed, sighing. "I'm sorry. I still wish I hadn't let it slip. Quite the mess I made of it, really."

"That _we_ made of it. I'm sorry. Let's just agree that... although not a proposal... that we do plan on seriously thinking about it in a few years."

"All right," he said after thinking about it for a moment, finally feeling good enough about the situation to smile. He surrounded her waist with his arms, and reached to kiss her.

She kissed him back softly, moving a bit on his lap to get more comfortable, giving his young body several ideas of things they could be doing other than talking about getting married without doing so. One of his hands left her back to move down to her bottom, squeezing the flesh underneath.

"Ron, are you serious?" she asked, breaking the kiss and looking back at the closed door. He used the opportunity to kiss her neck, to which she reacted by shivering and with a hitch in her breath. It made him feel fucking powerful. "Rooooon..."

"The door is closed," he told her as he kissed her clavicle, "there's a silencing charm in place."

He shifted his head so that he could bury his nose on the other side of her neck, inhaling deeply through his nose to get as much of her smell as possible, so much more intense in that patch of skin. He sighed in delight, her scent still filling up his senses.

"Oh… that's…" she tried to say, breathless. "But..." she weakly insisted, making no attempts to stop him. "There are people outside."

"It's only the two of us here," he argued. "Bless Merlin."

His hand still fondling her backside, he moved the other one around to cup her breast. "It feels different," he asserted after a moment, "now that you're wearing a bra. It feels more... contained, I suppose."

"That's because it is," she softly said, and he realised she was closing her eyes—not in fear, but more like in pleasure. It spurred him to continue, and he brought his other hand to fondle both her breasts at the same time. "There are more layers between your hands and me, now."

"And what a layer this one is," he half-joked, too aroused to fully focus on the amusement. "I mean, fuck, I'm touching your tits while you're wearing my old Cannon's shirt. This is what dreams are made of!"

Hermione laughed, making his head reel—he wanted to laugh, to kiss her again, to touch her more.

"I want you," he said without thinking, "for everything. Now and in two years and in twenty—"

He didn't know what else he would have said if Hermione hadn't kissed him then, but it didn't matter. He left her chest to surround her torso again, pulling her to him, trying to get as close as possible. The kiss got more urgent, and he knew things would have gotten out of control if Hermione hadn't stopped suddenly, getting up and walking away to stand in front of his desk.

Confused and suddenly cold without her body pressed against his, his arms suspended in the air where they had been left when Hermione had gotten up, he just looked at her.

"We should stop," she announced as if they had been caught in the act, prompting Ron to look around the office to make sure, even if he knew they were alone.

"Yeah, yeah, of course," he agreed. "That was quickly getting out of hand."

"It was. I came here to talk to you about my idea and we haven't, at all! Instead, we talked about marriage and got... got..."

"Carried away?" he suggested, relaxing now, the look of Hermione like that too funny at the moment.

"Carried away, yes! Exactly. And now it's too late. Lunch hour must be done!"

"Fuck! The interviews!" Ron exclaimed, getting up himself, shocked out of his amusement. He checked his watch and saw he was ten minutes behind. "All right, okay, I can't even imagine what you meant about going to Australia together, but we'll talk about it tonight, yeah?"

"Yes, that's fine," she said.

Ron un-sealed the door and lifted the silencing spell with two swishes of his wand, stopping in front of Hermione. "Do I look decent? Professional enough?"

Hermione laughed heartily at that.

"Oi, I don't have a mirror here, and I'm interviewing potential employees!"

"I'm sorry," she said, lifting her hand to use her fingers as a comb on his ginger locks. "You do. We didn't mess around _that_ much."

"Thanks," he said, going to open the office's door. He stepped to look outside, but didn't see anyone waiting around. Seeing Ginny, he motioned her to get closer.

"Yeah?" she said as she came to him. "Do we have a wedding date yet?"

"What?" Ron asked, confused for a moment, but catching on quickly. "Bloody hell, Harry told you. It's not what it sounds like."

"If you say so," she assured him, an overly sweet smile covering her face.

"Shut up, Ginny. Have you seen the new applicant anywhere?"

"Yep. He came and I tried to let you know, but I saw the door was closed. I told him to return in fifteen."

"Thanks," he said. "Will you send him in when he comes back?"

"Sure," she said, going back to what she had been doing before.

Ron turned to the office, and stepped away when he realised Hermione was on her way out.

"Tonight, then," he insisted, watching her go.

* * *

 

They left the shop together, holding hands and Side-Along Apparating to The Burrow's garden. They didn't go up to his room until past dinner, having shared the meal with Ron's family. They entered his dark bedroom, and Ron bent to pick up his Deluminator from his bedside table, switching it to have the lights turn on. Hermione saw him do it, and was shocked to see him use the small silver device instead of his wand.

"Why did you use the Deluminator?" Hermione asked. She didn't feel comfortable around it, for some reason.

"Oh," Ron said, lifting a hand to run his fingers through his hair, seemingly feeling self conscious. "I'm just... used to it. I don't even think about it now."

"But you don't need it anymore."

"No... I reckon I don't. It just... I suppose I use it as a reminder."

"A reminder of...?"

He was silent for a moment, looking at the silvery thing between his fingers. "A reminder of the promises I made."

"Ron?" she asked, confused and curious as to what he meant by that.

"Why don't we talk about Australia, instead?" he deflected. "If we go down this route," he said closing his hand around the Deluminator and waving it in the air, "we'll never have the time to talk about your idea."

He dropped the little thing next to his lamp on the bedside table.

"All right," she said, hesitant. She made a mental note to ask him at another time.

"So tell me about it," Ron began as he turned to look over the things that still needed to be sorted through and packed away. "What did you mean with going to Australia?"

"Exactly what it sounds like," she replied, checking to see which boxes could be sealed and which ones still had some room in them. "When we were talking this morning, I was going to tell you that there was a big chance that I'll need to go to Australia to see my parents again, and that if they were against our relationship, I would surely try to make them see reason then."

"Go to Australia again? When did that happen?" Ron asked, as he reached deep into his closet to find the last few heaps of clothes unpacked. There wasn't much left to sort through, anymore.

"Uhm... they have... been talking about it, during our calls, the past few days."

Ron stopped what he was doing to look at her. "When were you planning to tell me this?"

"When I knew what I was going to do about it," she began, but saw he wasn't totally pleased with her reply. "They only thought of this a few days ago, Ron. I haven't answered yet. I told them I needed to figure out if I could take the time off from working at the shop. I was just trying to gain time to figure out if I could just say no altogether, but now I thought better of it."

"Hermione, you still should have told me!" Ron complained, and she knew he was right. She looked back at him, embarrassed, but wanting to solve the issue.

"I didn't want to worry you! I was thinking of not going, wasn't I?"

"There you go again, trying not to worry me. We talked about it yesterday!"

"I know. But this hadn't come up again and I didn't... I'm sorry. When we talked about it yesterday it didn't occur to me that it was meant to count retrospectively..."

"It should! If it has an effect on us, as a couple, then it should count, right?"

"Well, then be sure I'm going to ask you about the Deluminator again," Hermione announced, wanting to show him things weren't as obvious sometimes, and that he wasn't free of blemish in this. "It's obviously still affecting us, isn't it? Your reaction made that pretty obvious!"

He looked up at her, but she couldn't read his expression. "Fine," he finally said. "I'll tell you about it. Not now, though, okay?"

"Fine."

"Fine. So, Australia? You and I?"

"Yes, so," she continued, taking the last bunch of his clothes out of the closet and checking that there was nothing left. "When we were talking this morning, I thought about telling you that maybe I could talk to them, if I ended up going. But then I thought, what if we went together? You could meet my parents properly and get to know them and, more importantly, they would get to know _you._ "

"But I can't leave the shop, now, Hermione," Ron argued, using his wand to seal two newly filled up boxes.

"It doesn't have to be for long. We can go for a week or so, in August. Maybe you will have trained the new employees by then, and since Ginny will still be here, maybe she can replace you. Maybe you can see it as a trial run of how things might go in September, once you're busy with training?"

"Yeah, I reckon that's doable, but what about George? I can't leave him!"

"I know," Hermione said. "That's the one thing that is truly concerning to me. But maybe we can figure out a solution? My parents have been saying that it'd be good for me to go before school starts again, because I will definitely not have the time once that happens. They're planning to come back to England during the Christmas break, and think it's too long before we see each other again."

Ron sighed. "Yeah, I get it. But what if George is going through a rough patch and I can't go? Will you go alone, then?"

"I don't know, Ron. I'd rather not—"

"I'd rather you didn't, either! I want to take advantage of every minute we have in what's left of Summer!"

Hermione stepped closer to him, lifting a hand to his face and reaching up to kiss him. "I know, me too."

"Why did you have to leave the office, though?" he asked as his arms came around her, his hands interlocking behind her back.

"Oh, that," she replied. "I needed to check the calendar, a map, and my bank account statements."

"...why?" Ron asked, confused.

"To figure out a few things. There's still a lot we need to think of, if we want to do this. Before any of that, though—would you do it? If we can make it work, will you go with me to Australia for a week?"

He nodded his consent and bent down to kiss her. "Yeah. Terrifies me a bit, but I'd definitely do it."

"Then we'll figure it out," she said, rising to her toes to kiss him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't been able to write new stuff yet. I think that time has more to do with it right now than anything; I feel like if I could sit on my computer to write I could *probably* write. Still, I'm not going to deny that I am a bit afraid of finding the time and realizing that nope, the writer's block is not gone. I'm a counterphobic person, though, so I hope I'll find the time soon anyway…
> 
> Now I want to express my true gratitude to those who take the time to write to tell me how much they're enjoying this story. I may have few reviewers, but each one of you is amazing and I recognize your names and aaaaaaaaaaaah, you are the best! Especially when giving advice on how to get one's mojo back ;)
> 
> One last thing: hello to the new readers! Reading someone binge-read LMF is the best feeling ever!


	25. Balancing Act

The following week passed with only one major event: George and Ron had moved into the flat above the shop on Thursday, July the 8th. Molly had tried to convince the boys to stay until the weekend, but since both Ron and George were working right through Saturdays and Sundays, the weekend didn't represent any kind of advantage, time-wise. Ron, seeing how antsy George felt, insisted Thursday was as good a day as any, and they took all their boxes and collected them in front of the fireplace.

The Floo Network had made the job relatively easy. Hermione, Ginny, Harry, Arthur, and Percy had helped, each of the seven of them taking one of the multiple boxes scattered through the sitting room at a time, and then taking it with them to the flat. Only twenty minutes after they had started, all boxes and bags were at their new place. Molly had been in the kitchen during this process, avoiding the family as they helped Ron and George move away. They all knew Molly was taking the situation poorly, though nobody really blamed her for it. When the time came to go to the flat, and as Molly still remained in the kitchen, all those present simply stood in their places in the sitting room, awkwardly trying to think of how to proceed and waiting for her to come say goodbye.

When their mum finally came into the sitting room, she was carrying two heavy-looking bags. She walked to the fireplace, one of her hands reaching for Floo Powder with difficulty. Then she stepped in it, turned, and, avoiding everybody's eyes, announced, "Ron and George's flat!"

The standing people had looked at each other as soon as she had disappeared among green flames and, once they had gotten their wits back, had followed one by one.

As each of them arrived to the flat, they had seen Molly opening a cupboard and pointing her wand to it.

" _Congelius Curius Familiari_ ", she had said, and white snow-like sparks had appeared from her wand, filling up the cupboard with an also white, dense looking fog that slowly disappeared. Then she proceeded to take several pots and containers from the bags to put them in the shelves. Once done, she turned to the family and said, "there, you'll have some food for when you need it."

With no need for explanations, they had all understood what that meant. She had given Ron and George her unwilling blessing, without having to put it in so many words.

George was the first one to react, walking to Molly and engulfing her in a tight hug. The rest of the people present knew he had to have said something to her, because she started weeping and nodding her head yes in a rapid motion. Ron was next, hugging her close as well, trying to put as much affection as he could in the gesture.

"I love you, Mum. Thanks... thanks for everything," he mumbled, as emotional as his mum was.

Then he had gone to hug his dad as well, just as George had stepped away. Ron tried to say something, anything at all, that could somehow tell him just how much he meant to Ron. But it was different with him, and as much as he looked for any half-adequate words, he couldn't find anything good enough.

"I love you, Ron. Take care of yourself and your brother. Goodnight, son, not goodbye."

Still unable to speak, he simply nodded his head to let him know he would.

Then they said goodnight to Arthur, Percy, and Molly-the other three would stay to help to put away a few things-but they never said goodbye.

* * *

 

Hermione woke up sleeping on her side, Ron's arm around her. She had been staying with him every night since moving in four days ago, even if it had been a bit inconvenient. She didn't have any of her things in Ron's room, so she had had to Apparate back and forth from her house. She didn't mind, though. It was helping Ron to get used to his new room and his new bed, and Hermione was happy to be able to comfort him that way.

She tried to lift his arm to get out of bed. He mumbled something and turned away, still sleeping, freeing her. She tip-toed outside of his bedroom and went to the bathroom. She quickly washed her face before getting out, intending to go back to Ron, but halted midway there when she saw George in the kitchen.

"Good morning," he calmly said, not letting it show if he was shocked at all at seeing her there. As far as they knew, George hadn't realised that Hermione had been staying in the flat the past few nights.

"Oh, uhm... good morning," she replied, awkwardly standing where she was.

He looked at her for a moment, to finally crack a smile. "Relax. Do you really think I didn't know this was going to happen when I asked Ron to move in with me? I don't care what happens in that bedroom, as long as it stays there."

"We're not... that's not..." she fumbled for words, flustered and indignant at the same time.

"Hermione," George interrupted again, setting the teapot to boil with a flick of his wand. " _Relax_ , I said. I do _not_ care."

"Fine," she said, the word coming out quick and clipped through her lips. She went back to Ron's room, her heart beating fast.

She jumped back to the bed, waking Ron up.

He looked around, confused, but smiled when he saw her. She had settled on her side facing him, and he turned to face her as well, his arm going back to rest around her waist.

"This is perfect," he commented, his voice deep with sleep, his eyes closed.

"George saw me," she said.

His face remained impassive, but he opened his eyes to look at her, eyelids heavy with sleep. "Okay," he began. "Did he say anything?"

"That he had expected it, and that he didn't care what we did in here, as soon as it stayed in here."

"That's... good, isn't it?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows, perplexed.

"But it isn't!" Hermione exclaimed in a forced whisper, tensing up. "I don't feel comfortable with him knowing what we're doing here!"

"But we haven't done anything, really!" He replied, his voice low but still able to express his bewilderment. He was quickly waking up fully, as he obviously caught on the fact she was incredibly uncomfortable and not being able to understand what the problem was.

"That's not the point," she insisted. "He _thinks_ that we are and I don't like it."

"That's barmy, Hermione."

"Still," she pressed, her lips pursing in a mix of annoyance and embarrassment.

"Well, but what do you want me to do?" he argued, apparently giving up on trying to understand. "I can't do anything about it, can I?"

She didn't reply.

"Well, what did you think would happen?" he continued. "I mean, he was bound to realise you're staying here, sooner or later. Or are you planning to never sleep here again, now?"

"No, I will," she was forced to admit after a moment. "I just... I don't like that he's assuming... I mean, why does he have to care?"

"But he told you he doesn't," he insisted. "Hermione, I'm sure he's not _thinking_ about it. I wouldn't, if things were reversed!"

"I suppose," she conceded, still a bit uncomfortable, even if she knew Ron was right.

They remained in silence for a few minutes, as Hermione tried to get used to the idea that, as long as any of them lived with somebody else, their privacy would have to have boundaries. And, really, why did it _have_ to matter so much?

Feeling a bit more empowered, Hermione was just about to suggest they get up to get ready for the day when Ron spoke.

"We haven't fooled around much since I moved in here, but we did a bit last night and... well, I was wondering, were you feeling uncomfortable? I didn't think so, but I was... you know, thinking of other things... rather, not thinking at all, if you know what I mean..."

Hermione had to smile, touched that he had thought about that, even if it had been so after-the-fact.

She took a minute to think back to how she had felt the night before. "I think... well, no," she finally said, surprised at her answer. "I didn't feel uncomfortable. I suppose I was too... distracted... to think of the fact George was in the room next door. We didn't do anything we haven't done before, too, so I wasn't feeling nervous about that, either. I was just… in the moment, I think you could say."

He nodded his head in understanding. "Yeah, same here. Whenever we... touch... I just-I forget everything around us. You are all there is," he admitted.

Hermione felt her emotions shake at this, a small quake moving her heart. He had said the words so self-consciously, almost as if he expected her to reprove him for it. Instead, the words had made her smile and beam inside. How long had she wondered what it would feel like to hear him say those things, to know they were at the stage where such things were possible? She had longed to hear him talk about them that way, imploring in her mind to whomever could read her thoughts to make it happen, to keep them safe long enough to get to that point. And now they were.

It was obvious that their situation wasn't ideal; unless they could actually manage to spend significant amounts of time completely alone, all progression in their intimacy had to happen like this. It wasn't like they were flaunting their advancing explorations around. And wasn't it natural? Wasn't it their right as a couple to decide how to experience—or not—these things?

Feeling suddenly resolute, a sense of determination of no clear origin, she felt silly to worry so much about what George or anybody else thought about what they did when alone. Nobody had a right to question it or judge it or think about it at all.

"You know what, it's fine. We don't have to be responsible for what George imagines we're doing here. We've known each other for years and waited long enough to be together to care about what anybody thinks. That's only for you and me, and as long as we keep it private like that, we'll be all right."

"That's... perfect for me," Ron said, and she kissed him purposefully, making it into a promise, savoring the contact so that it would be enough to keep her going through the day.

* * *

 

Monday morning was crazy, not that Ron could say that any day at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was any different. This day was particularly so, though, because two new people were starting to work at the shop.

Where Roman was going to be working with George, Rajeev was going to be helping wherever needed. The two boys and Cassie, who had blended in without a problem, made the three new Wheezes employees. Ron and George, with Ginny and Hermione present, had welcomed them to the shop, given them their magenta robes as they explained what was expected from them and what to do when they had any questions. Then they had opened the store for the day, and proceeded to work all together as a way to model and supervise their work.

Once Ron had felt it was okay if he stepped away, he had tried to catch up with the administrative work needed for that day. It always frustrated him to find more and more pieces of parchment piling up in his to-do file, especially on days like this when he felt he could never do enough.

Busy as he was, he had taken the time to have lunch with Hermione. They went to Fortescue's again, and the fact that they got to sit at the same table as last time made him happy, for some reason.

"You know," he had told her at one point, "when we were here last, when we were holding hands, I really wanted to kiss you, but couldn't."

"You can, now," she had replied, reaching across the table to give him a small peck on the lips.

They returned to the shop relatively soon, as Ron had still lots to do. As they arrived to Wheezes to give Ginny her lunch break, she announced that they had received an important letter from the Ministry of Magic.

"Hey, guess what happened," she said. "Remember the ceremony Kingsley told us about that day at home?" she asked Ron, who nodded yes as he recalled the moment Ginny was referring to. "Well, it's happening. August the 7th. You got a letter, too, I'm sure it's the same one that I got."

Ron and Hermione went looking for his letter, commenting how Hermione's must have arrived to her home. Ron opened the letter and read it; Hermione came to stand by his side and read as well.

_To Mr. Ronald Weasley and his guest,_

_We are honored to invite you to a tribute ceremony to be hosted at the location indicated below on August the 7th, 1998. We will honour the victims of the war and celebrate the end of Voldemort's threat to the Wizarding World. Drinks and appetizers will be served as guests arrive, followed by an official speech headed by Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt. Time will be allowed afterwards to socialize and commemorate together these eventful times we live in._

_Please RSVP before Friday, July the 23th, by sending a note directly to the Minister's office, mentioning your and your guest's full names._

_Dress Code: Formal._

_Location: Corona Borealis Magical Hall_

_Time of Arrival: 19:30_

The letter ended with Shacklebolt's signature and an official wax stamp.

"Wow," Ron said, at a loss for words. "I had totally forgotten he had mentioned this. It feels like it happened so long ago!"

"When did he talk about it?"

"Sometime in mid-May; he visited The Burrow to talk to us about many things. It was when he offered us the fast-track option to become Aurors," he explained as Hermione sat in her now-usual spot on the desk. He laid back on the wall opposing her, next to his chair, casually resting his weight against it.

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. "Oh, yes, that was a long time ago. I guess the Ministry is still a slow-moving machine, after all."

"I reckon it is," Ron agreed, amused.

"Wait, August the 7th? Hmm. I was thinking that was a good date for our trip to Australia, if we can make it work."

Reminded of Hermione's idea, Ron ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, about that, I was thinking... I'm still not completely sure I can leave England, but if I can... maybe a good plan would be that you go first and spend a few days alone with them, you know, to reconnect and, well, to prepare them for my arrival. Not too many days before; you said you wanted to stay there for a week, so maybe you can go there for three or four days and I'll join you for the last few days. I don't know, I just thought that might be a good idea. What do you think?"

"Yes, I think that's good. But it's such a long trip, Ron. Do you really want to travel all that distance, just to be there for three days?"

"Wait, are we going to travel Muggle-style?"

"I think we must. My parents may get upset if we arrive by Portkey or something like that."

"But then... does that mean I would have to fly there alone, if you're going to be there already? I don't-I don't think I can do that!"

"All right, let's think about this. Maybe... maybe I'll fly there, and we arrange for you to get there by Portkey to a safe place, where I'll be waiting for you. Then I'll take you to my parents' house, without them needing to be involved with anything magical. I think that would work, don't you?"

"Yeah, that sounds fine. Then, when it's time to come back, we'll be together. Yeah, I think that'll work."

"Good. That'll save us the cost of one ticket, too, so that's another benefit," she commented off-handedly.

"Err... Hermione?" Ron said, crazily uncomfortable, suddenly at a loss for words and having to stop talking for a moment. He shuffled one of his feet on the floor, silently cursing himself. How could he be so stupid?

Despite how much he wished he could ignore the money issue, he had to go on and talk about it. "I'm going to say that, well," he started again, "maybe because I'm not used to... I mean, 'cause I don't know much about Muggle things, right? But... I hadn't-I hadn't realised that, yeah, of course we have to pay for tickets..."

"Oh, yes, don't worry about it. I'll be paying for that. That's why I needed to check my bank statements, to make sure I can afford it."

"What? No, I'll pay for it myself. How much can it be? What's the conversion between wizard Money and Muggle money?"

"Ron... I don't think... you don't have to worry..."

"C'mon, tell me. I'm earning a wage, now; I'm sure I can afford it! What is it, ten Galleons? Fifteen? That's how much it costs to travel abroad by Portkey; you know, to cover the administrative costs..."

Hermione looked to the floor, avoiding his eyes. It had to be bad, if she couldn't look at him. He gulped, and almost not wanting to hear the answer, asked again. "Is it more than fifty Galleons, then?"

"Well... I really think you should let me pay. My parents set me up with a good savings account, and I would really love to-"

"Hermione... just tell me."

She sighed, evidently giving up at his insistence. "It's a bit more than a thousand pounds, so more like two hundred Galleons."

"Two hundred?!" Ron exclaimed, horrified first, and extremely embarrassed second.

Hermione looked up at him, and he knew she had guessed where his discomfort was coming from. He could feel the tip of his ears going red, and it was his turn to look to the floor.

"I... I can't afford that, Hermione," he finally confessed.

"Hey, but you only need a one-way ticket, the one you need to return with me. That'll be cheaper! Maybe around... hundred and twenty?"

Ron slumped against the wall, too self-conscious and uncomfortable to reply. Still, he forced himself to do so. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't think... I can't afford that, either."

"Please, Ron, why don't you let me pay for you? This was my idea, after all. This has to do with my relationship with my parents, so you're doing me a favor, really. Let me repay your favor by paying for your airplane ticket."

"Hermione..." he said again, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, c'mon. We're modern, young people. Surely you're not hung up over the fact that I'm the one paying?" she insisted, trying to pass her question as a casual comment, but Ron knew her well enough that he was sure she was trying to minimize the issue for his sake.

"You know it's not about that," he argued, shaking his head from side to side, looking to the floor.

"Then what is it about?" she asked as she jumped to the floor, coming close to him. She put her hands on his crossed arms, bending her head down but looking up to him. He lifted his head up to make it easier to look at each other in the eye.

"Are you really going to make me say it?" he asked her, and hated to realise there was a hint of despair in his voice. He did not want to admit to her that he still hated the fact he didn't have enough money to pay for this kind of thing; that things that for other people were normal expenses could easily be luxuries to him.

"No, Ron. It's all right," she conceded, coming still closer to him, her hands still on his arms. "I know... I know this is a sensitive issue for you."

Ron tried to convince himself that he wasn't so obvious in how much his lack of money mattered to him, but quickly admitted that maybe he was. Then he thought that maybe he could downplay it, pretend like it wasn't as big of a deal, but thought better about that, too. In the deepest corner of his mind, he knew Hermione had always known that his family's money status had always bothered him, even if she had probably never realised that it was one of the reasons why he had doubted she could be interested in him for so long.

All those thoughts crossed Ron's mind in the blink of an eye, too fast to even allow him to decide what to do about it, so he did nothing, at the end.

"What if..." she started to question, but then appeared to change her mind. "Look. I have an idea, but it's a bit complex. Let me try to check if it's possible at all first, and then I'll tell you if we can make it work."

"I want to pay my own way, though," Ron insisted, feeling like his pride was on the line and hating himself for it.

Hermione nodded her understanding. "My idea may make that possible. At least partially... I don't know. But we'll see; I don't want to make a big deal out of this, because it shouldn't be and because I really, really want you to come to Australia with me, now. I've had enough time to imagine what it would be like, to introduce you again to my parents, and this time as my boyfriend instead of the boy from school who's my friend. I really hope I don't have to accept the fact that it can't happen. Just let me see if I can figure it out, all right?"

Ron sighed, finally nodding his agreement. "Yeah, okay," he added.

She reached up to kiss him. "Good," she said, stepping back to go back to work. Again, things had happened and they had used all of the lunch break, like usual.

* * *

 

Ron went up the stairs taking several steps at once, ready to call it a day. He had just returned from buying dinner in a shop in Diagon Alley and was planning to eat it on the sofa, to then proceed to organize the few boxes that were still sealed from the day they had moved in.

There weren't many things that needed to be put away anymore, but he was hoping to finish it all that night. Even if he was starting to feel more comfortable at the flat, he felt that not seeing the boxes around anymore would help him feel like the place was closer to being his home. His plan was to finish all of it before Hermione came to the flat; she hadn't slept with him the past two nights, and he was missing her in his bed already, and was hoping to convince her to stay.

He opened the door and went to the sofa, taking his packaged food out of the paper wrapping. He was in the middle of doing that when George appeared, coming out of his bedroom.

"Hey, have you eaten anything?" Ron asked him, his mouth watering in anticipation of his own meal.

"Yeah, I ate some of what Mum gave us, but look" he said. "I just found this. Fred... Fred and I started it a long time ago, and forgot about it when we went into hiding."

Ron looked at the bottle George was holding to him, amber Firewhisky sparkling in red tones up to about three quarters of the bottle. "Oh, is that the fancy one?"

"Yeah, a 1954 Single Firemalt. Fucking unbelievable, if I remember correctly. Want some?"

"Sure," Ron said. "Let's not go crazy, though. I have to do a few things before Hermione gets here."

* * *

 

Hermione closed the door of the storeroom securely behind her to then make her way to the flat. She went up the stairs and opened the door, fully expecting to see Ron finishing the unpacking. Instead, she was greeted by a shocking sight: both Ron and George were sitting on the sofa, drinks in their hands, and an almost-empty bottle in front of them. She stopped, frozen in her steps at the sight.

"Just look at my girlfriend," Ron said at the sight of her, as if it was part of an ongoing conversation. "Bloody beautiful, she is."

Hermione felt herself blush, both pleased and embarrassed. She remained silent as she took a step forward, closing the door behind her.

"Oh yeah, she is," George agreed. "You've got good taste, Ron."

"I fucking do," he congratulated himself, straightening up in obvious pride, his words coming out only slightly slurred. "Took me a shit-ton of years to get her to be with me, but I convinced her in the end. I have no idea how, though..." he added in evident bewilderment.

"But you know, I told your girlfriend already," George said out of the blue, in a comment that Hermione did not think was related to Ron's in any way. "You're living here now, with a room all to yourself and without the fear of having Mum come to knock on your door at an inconvenient time..." he got silent for a moment, but then continued, "yeah, that's right, keep everything to yourselves in your room, Ron, and use a silencing spell, is all I ask."

"Okay, that's enough, now," Hermione quickly interrupted, not wanting them to continue with that kind of talk. She went to them with her wand in her hand, and vanished the little Firewhisky that remained in the bottle.

"Oi! We're celebrating!" George complained, moving his glass away from Hermione, in case she thought of taking it away, as well.

Hermione was tempted to do it, but didn't. "Did you drink close to a full bottle just now?" she chided them, instead.

"We didn't!" Ron replied indignantly. "It was open when George found it. We drank... about half of it, only, I think."

"A bit more, I'd wager," George added, contemplative. "Be honest, girls care about that."

"Alright, a bit more, then," Ron quickly agreed, as if he was truly scared that Hermione had just caught him lying.

She smirked to hide a smile. "That's plenty, and that's enough. We'll clean up what's left in the boxes tomorrow, I suppose. I think you two better go to sleep now. Do you need help getting to your room, George?"

"That's frankly insulting, Mrs. Gran-Granger Weasley. I am-" George interrupted himself as he got up with effort and a slight waver, as if he had lost his balance. When he finally stood straight, he smiled with pride. "I'm perfectly capable of going to my room on my own, see?"

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked, concerned as he saw him take a few slow, hesitant steps, arms stretched out as if afraid he was going to fall down.

"Yes, I am, thank you very much," he said with exaggerated, forced enunciation. "I haven't completely lost my ability to hold my liquor," he assured her. "Just worry about your boyfriend; I made sure he drank more than I did."

"M'fine!" Ron complained, as if George's words had hurt his pride. "Look," he said as he stood up, in much the same manner as George had. "Wow," he exclaimed, "didn't expect the room to move like that," Ron added, and Hermione reached to hold his arm.

"Are you sure you're fine?"

"I am, yeah," he said, taking his arm away from her hand to then interlock fingers with her. He took her to his room, walking a bit slower than usual but on his own. They went in, and Ron turned to close the door, reaching into his pocket for the Deluminator.

"I see your bed is still unmade," Hermione said as the room became illuminated, and looking at the double bed in the middle of the opposing wall. "Do you even know where your pajamas are?"

"No idea," Ron said, and Hermione nodded her head disapprovingly as she turned away from him.

"Honestly, Ron," she said as she began looking for his pajamas. She started moving his blankets around and, when that failed, she started looking in other places. "You have to be a bit more organized than this. And, really? Drinking like this on a weekday? Granted, it's not like you _have_ a weekend right now, but-" she had begun to say, when she heard the clinking metal sounds of Ron's belt buckle. She quickly turned around, noticing that he stood with his eyes closed, shirtless. He had taken it off while she had been looking for his pajamas, dropping it on the floor next to his feet. He proceeded to undress further as Hermione assessed the situation, now unbuttoning his jeans. "What are you doing?" she asked breathlessly, slightly scared but unable to not stare.

He let his trousers drop to the floor as well, leaving him in his pants. He stepped out of his trousers carefully, opening his eyes and taking off his socks, looking around as if he wasn't almost naked in front of her, reaching up with a hand to scratch his head. "I... sorry?"

Recovering slightly and amused that Ron was absolutely unaware of the significance of the situation, she tilted her head to the side as she looked him over. "I suppose you could just sleep in your pants," she suggested, her eyes fixating in the patch of ginger hair that went down his navel and disappeared beneath his underwear. Her eyes then looked at his chest, which was as skinny as she had always expected it to be, and his shoulders, covered by a million freckles and which looked wider than she had imagined.

"Yeah, that should work," he agreed, as if amazed at her wonderful brain. He walked to her and surrounded her with his arms, bending down to kiss her. "Will you stay with me? I don't want to be by myself tonight. I know I should... shouldn't get used to us sleeping together every night, but I miss you."

Hermione took a moment to reply, feeling eager and anxious at the prospect. Seeing him with so little on him had immediately taken her mind places, inundated as it had been with a sudden surge of hormones. She had found herself wanting to kiss him all over, tasting his skin, counting each one of his freckles. It scared her to realise she was feeling so much, wanting so much; even if it had been him the one to drink that night, she felt just as intoxicated. If that happened just by the surprise of seeing him in his pants only and wondering how it would feel to explore all this newly exposed skin, she was concerned at how much more they would do if sharing a bed.

"I can, yes," she agreed, trying to shut down her brain for a moment, to let herself be a teenage girl in love. After all they had been through, didn't they deserve the right to be a little reckless? "I didn't bring anything to sleep in, though. Maybe I can sleep in your shirt, if you don't mind?"

"My shirt?" Ron repeated, looking down to the floor where he had dropped it. "Sure," he said, and turned to go get it.

She observed him bend down to the floor, and turning to her as he got up, his shirt hanging from his hand, he looked at her again as if he hadn't seen her before. "Fucking Merlin, have I told you that you're gorgeous?"

He evidently believed it; she had heard the passion and vehemence in his voice. She tried to imagine what he was seeing, but couldn't think of anything beside the fact he was still half naked in front of her, in his dimly-lit new bedroom. She saw his eyes roaming over her body, making her feel as bare as he was, despite her still being fully clothed.

As much as she tried to convince herself to do more, she hesitated. She wasn't confident and, despite coming to an agreement the other day, it did bother her that George was on the other room.

_I won't think. I won't stop myself from doing what I want to do with Ron. There's nothing wrong with it, as long as we both want to do it._

Ron was still looking at her, as if he was waiting to see what she would do. She held his gaze and finally gathered her courage, ruthlessly focusing on his words and the want in his eyes, and reached to the bottom hem of her shirt, lifting it up and over her head, to finally drop it on the floor next to her.

_Breathe, just breathe_ , she told herself. She had enough with dealing with her insecurities and fast-beating heart to add doubts to the mix. She stood still, trying to focus on the fact that Ron was almost naked in front of her, and that the thought of balancing the scales had her blood racing. She waited for his reaction, still holding his eyes.

"Holy shit," he exclaimed, though she could barely hear him over the loudness of her heartbeats.

"I think you better put a silencing spell in here, after all," she suggested, if only to make sure everything they ended up doing remained for the two of them alone.

"Sure, of course," he conceded, reaching to the dresser for his wand and quickly whispering the spell.

With a small smile, she watched him leave his wand on the dresser and turn to her again, his face full of anticipation.

"You... can get closer, if you want," she suggested, and he was holding her and kissing her in a flash.

"Bloody hell," he breathed out as he lifted his hands to her, kissing her again as he cupped her breasts and squeezed a bit harder than he ever had, his hands rough for the first time. She didn't expect it to arouse her so much, but it did-it made her feel wanted, like he couldn't get enough of her. She heard him groan after a moment, and heard herself moan in response, his fingers working on her with a hint of despair. He found her nipples, squeezing them between his fingers, causing her to gasp in surprise.

"Bloody hell," he said as he broke the kiss and dropped his head against hers. "It's almost too much."

She took a step back, her mind finally blank, her body reeling with the feeling of being so wanted, of wanting him so much. She saw in his eyes that he thought she had had enough, and was delighted to see his further shock when she reached down to unbutton her shorts, her thumbs hooking around the top to then pull them down her legs. She told her brain to shut up when it tried to tell her why she should maybe think twice of what she was doing.

"Fucking Merlin's balls," Ron whispered, absolutely unbelieving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Surprise Update! I have my driver's test tomorrow morning (wish me luck!) and then I'm meeting with a friend, which means I won't have time to post-- and judging by the amount of things I have to do during the weekend, I knew that if I didn't post today I wouldn't post until Friday next week. I didn't want to do that! Not while I have buffered chapters, anyway. Paraphrasing Aragorn, "a day may come when I can't post a chapter a week, but it is not this day..." 
> 
> AAAAAaaaaaaaaanyway, do you hate me for finishing the chapter where I did? lololol. Please don't. It's for reasons. 
> 
> Thank you SO much to those who are still leaving reviews, and to those who have just started. It motivated me SOOO much to keep writing. I do think I'm doing better with the writer's block; I wrote a FULL PARAGRAPH this week...................................................................................................... I do think (hope?) that the real issue, now, is time.


	26. Crazy

Hermione stood in front of him, forcing herself to not cover her body from his sight. Now they were equal, standing in front of each other in their underwear. She saw him dazedly catalog her state of undress, the intensity in his eyes causing her skin to tingle in anticipation. He lifted his eyes to hers, then, but didn't say anything.

Despite her bravery, she couldn't change the fact that his silence was making her uncomfortable. She needed him to say something-and not just anything, but something good. She wasn't used to putting herself in such a vulnerable position, even if the person she was doing it with was Ron.

"Now what?" she asked, needing to prompt him to say something.

"I love you so bloody much, that's what," Ron said senselessly, but Hermione didn't care. To hear his voice affected by what he was feeling was all she needed at the moment.

"I love you, too," she said, barely getting the words out before Ron had taken a step towards her and, surrounding her with his arms again, squeezed her to him and kissed her purposefully.

He lifted her up just like he had at the Room of Requirement. He took her closer to the bed after a short moment, her heart racing and her body firing up, all in spite of her panicking mind. He turned and sat down on the edge of the mattress, setting her between his open legs. His arms went around her waist, his head turned up to look at her. "When are the two weeks done? The ones we said we would wait for, before talking about having sex."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat, his alcohol-induced directness a complete thrill. Even so, she was thankful that, despite his inebriated state, he had remembered. "It was last weekend," she said, not bothering with trying to hide the irony in her voice.

"Oh, fuck," he said again. "I mean, _shit_. Sorry, I know you probably didn't think that I- but I didn't mean to say it as in we have to shag now... unless..."

"I don't... think so..." she told him, hoping he'd understand. She knew they were doing this not only because Ron had had a bit much to drink, or because she was feeling particularly brazen. It didn't take much to realise that they were doing this simply because they were two young people in love, who were still learning to add intimacy to a relationship of many years. It reminded her of the thoughts she had the night he had kissed her, after finishing her book. She had been wondering how being with him like this would be like, longing to have the opportunity. They loved each other, and cared so much about making it work and respecting each other's boundaries that they needed a push to stop worrying so much and connect this way. It was silly, really, that they wanted each other so much, were so ready to admit it, and yet were so careful to take it slowly. It was the price of holding back for years, limiting what they had to a wonderful, priceless friendship, even when they had wanted more for so long.

Yes, they were taking advantage of the effect that alcohol was having on them. Hermione might not have drunk any herself, but Ron had and it was making him bold and confident, which in turn aroused Hermione to no end, to the point she was ready to take another step in their mutual discovery... but didn't make her ready to have sex yet.

"That's all right," he agreed, taking her away of her half-strung thoughts. "It's strange; I want to do more, Hermione. I'm crazy about you, and I want you so much right now. At the same time, I don't think I want to go quite that far tonight, either. I'm not too drunk, I really only have a bit of a buzz. But I want to be completely sober when we do. And yet I'm feeling brave, and I'm drunk enough that maybe I'll go too far."

Hermione knew that he wasn't too drunk, while the alcohol he had had was serving to embolden him. It mattered to her that he was self-aware enough at this time to know he didn't want to be out of his mind in the slightest way, because it was important for him, too. It made her feel like they were still on the same page, exploring and learning about each other.

"I... I'll let you know if that happens," she finally said. "But I... I want you to know that I want you, too."

"Bloody hell," he said, and he kissed the top of her ribcage, the tip of his tongue coming out as an afterthought, licking her skin quickly before he moved his lips down, lower on her chest.

She was breathing fast and knew he could feel it, as his lips were exploring the center of her chest, his hands coming up to cup her breasts once more.

"I'm so in love with you, Hermione," he said. "I don't have the words, really; I don't know how to say it any other way. I love you, so much," he insisted, his words not slurred at all anymore. She ran her fingers through his hair and down his nape, crossing her arms around his neck and hugging him to her.

His hands left her chest and went to squeeze her backside, putting a smile on her face. It quickly disappeared behind a gasp when she felt his mouth close around her right breast. Her arms tensed around his head in response, unknowingly bringing him closer to her. He must have thought she had approved of his advances, for he opened his mouth further and took more of her in, his tongue running out of space and randomly squirming against her nipple. "Ohhh," she exclaimed, no words readily available in her brain.

His hands traveled down her legs, teaching Hermione that the skin under his fingers was more sensitive than she had known. He then grabbed her thighs and pulled at them, clearly suggesting that she should straddle him.

She tried to put her knees one each side of his hips, but the bed didn't provide enough support for her and she was forced to go back to standing. Ron realised what the problem was, and moved back on the bed until his long thighs were completely resting on the mattress, his legs bending to the floor at the knees. She climbed on the bed then, her hands on his shoulders and her legs moving around him and further back on the bed. He kissed the point where her ribs met, right above her fluttering stomach, and surrounded her with his arms to bring her closer to him as she settled on his lap.

The feeling of him hard against her core came as a surprise, intimate and suggestive. She gasped and looked at him, trying to find in his eyes a clue of how he was feeling. He looked back at her, his mouth slightly open to allow for his own quick breathing, a spark in his eyes. He then gave her an amazed half smile, one corner of his mouth slowly going up in self assurance and a hint of confidence.

"Bloody brilliant, don't you think?" He asked her, his hands roaming on her back until one of them settled on holding the back of her neck, the other spreading over her lower back.

She ran her hands down his bare chest, not saying anything but nodding her agreement.

"I wish I had more to offer, in terms of looks," he confessed, his eyes lowering to follow her hands.

"You're all I want," Hermione assured him, her hands returning to his freckled shoulders.

"How did I get so goddam lucky?"

Hermione lifted a shoulder, her own lips now curling in amusement. "I blame all those hours alone in Hogwarts, when Harry was busy somewhere else or when we were patrolling, and you refusing to stop being so adorable."

"Those patrolling hours were hell, if you ask me, especially in sixth year," he said as he reached for her neck, his lips moving against her skin as he talked. "Hours of wandering around the castle at dusk, wanting desperately to kiss you and tell you how I felt, but not having the balls to do it."

"They were the best part of my day," she countered. "I got to have you all for myself."

His head changed sides, and Hermione stretched her head back to give him more room. "All you needed to do was ask," he told her, "and I would have been yours."

She sighed. "Oh, Ron. So much time wasted," she managed to say in a breath.

"We're here, now," he said as he kissed her skin down to the top of her left breast. "In a fucking brilliant position, too," he added.

She chuckled, but her breath hitched again as his lips closed around her again.

"They say... I've heard blokes talk about how girls like... you know, that they like having their-nipples-played with."

"Oh, is that right?" she felt herself blush anew. She was constantly going back and forth between wanting things to progress and wanting them to go slower.

He shrugged nonchalantly, bringing one of his hands to run the tip of his fingers above the hem of her bra, over her breast. "You hear all sorts of things in the Hogwarts bathrooms. Is that... true? For you, at least."

A bit embarrassed but adamant she wouldn't lie, she nodded her head up and down. "Yes, I think so... though I wouldn't be sure, of course, of how it'll feel when you do it to me."

"Do you... I mean, will you let me... I'd love to try," he finally said, looking up to her. His eyes didn't waver, even if his words had.

Just the thought of it made her dizzy with anticipation. Before allowing herself to think twice, she lifted a hand and flattened his over her breast, feeling her heart beating incredibly fast again, her chest heaving up and down in a quick pace. Ron was looking at their hands, mesmerized. She curled her fingers above his, so that the tip of them hooked around the hem of her bra. Then she held her breath and helped him pull it down to uncover her breast.

"Holy-" he half cursed. He brought his free hand to her, running the tip of his index finger over the puckered up tip. "This is... Merlin, this is so much better than the best wank I ever had."

"I would hope so," she said, slightly breathless. "What would be the point of doing this with each other, otherwise?"

He didn't answer, and instead began rubbing her nipple between two fingers. Feeling self-conscious, she had to bite her lips to stop herself from moaning.

"More, Hermione," he said, and moved his hand to pull down the other cup of her bra down, this time without her help. As his hands were busy, he reached forward to flick her newly-exposed nipple with his tongue. "Bloody marvellous. I'm... this is..." he continued using his lips, changing from one to the other as if he couldn't get enough.

It was almost too much. Her body was taking over, making her feel out of control and, more than that, making her like it. The more he worked on her, the more she wanted; soon she needed it all. She wanted to writhe her hips against him, to feel him against her like that and grind him; to ask him to touch her all over and to forget what they had said, and to go much, much further that night.

She was overwhelmed, the fear of losing control a powerful undercurrent. It all was too much, after all.

"I can't-- wait," she said, trying to get away from him even as she instantly regretted it. He let her go. She scrambled back and out of the bed, lifting her hands up to put her bra back in place. What had happened to her?

"All right, that's okay," he said, his hands coming up to his face, where he rubbed hard as if to try to get himself out of a spell. He looked at her for a moment, before scrunching his face and dropping back on the bed with a grunt, one of his arms going over his eyes as he released a noisy, deep breath.

She took a deep breath of her own, quickly checking with herself what she wanted to do now that she had gotten them out of the moment, finding that she was still aroused but in a much more manageable way. Apparently, feeling like she was losing control had terrified her. On the flipside, taking charge of what she was willing to do made her feel more in control of herself and, thus, more self-assured. Maybe, now that the fear had been managed, she could let herself go a bit further.

She looked him over, considering. He seemed to be breathing deeply, still faster than usual. His arm was still over his eyes, the other over his flat stomach. His pants were tenting over his hips, his erection still noticeable underneath the folds and wrinkles of the fabric.

"Let's... let's just lay in bed," she said as she turned to reach for his shirt, the one she was going to use to sleep in.

"Sure, yeah, that sounds fine," he said.

She could hear him moving around the bed as she slipped the shirt over her, then reaching under its hem to unhook her bra. She quickly took it off and dropped it on the floor, then noticing that Ron was looking at her.

"You okay?" he asked, and they both pretended that his hardness wasn't obvious under his underpants anymore.

She got on the bed and laid down next to Ron, using his shoulder as a pillow. "Yes."

She heard him sigh, and she pursed her mouth in answer, for a moment.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. "But if it helps, I really liked the feeling of... of your mouth on-me," she said, trying to make him feel better.

"It's fine, Hermione. I did say I thought I'd go a bit mad. I'm sorry if I pressured you or anything."

"You didn't. I... I just... it was too much," she repeated again, wishing she could explain it better. She couldn't, though, for the simple reason she didn't fully understand it herself. Why was she so afraid of losing control?

"Too much in a good way, or in a bad way?"

That was an answer she could give him. She didn't hesitate. "In a good way."

"So we can try it again," he asked.

"Definitely."

"That's fine, then. Brilliant."

She looked down to his groin again, even if it was barely visible to her from that angle. She could see the shape of his hardness underneath the fabric of his pants, the weight of it causing it to rest in an angle on top of his lower belly, the rise of it apparent on the fabric of his underwear.

She gathered her courage. "You touched me pretty intimately tonight."

"I did. Fucking unbelievable, if you ask me."

"And I see it's had... it still is causing an effect on you."

Ron scoffed. "It's a sign of how bold I feel after that Firewhiskey that I'm not trying to hide it. I thought you didn't mind?" he asked.

"I don't mind at all," she said, finally feeling ready to reach for him over his pants. Feeling in control.

He jumped at her touch. "What are you doing?"

"Is this all right?" she asked, simply wrapping her fingers around him, as she didn't know what else to do, the solid form of him hard against her palm. She couldn't wrap her fingers completely around him, as his erection rested against his body and under his pants, but she tried to cover as much as possible with her hand.

"If... if you want," he replied, a quiver in his voice.

"What should I do?" she asked as she moved her hand up and down, as she had read one should do.

"Fucking, bloody excellent, what you're doing right now. Shit, Hermione, are you sure?"

"I am, if you are. I want to do this for you, tonight. Just... just teach me?"

"You don't-- Merlin-- you don't have to," he tried again, but his groan made her want to do it for him, anyway.

"I want to," she insisted. It was true.

"Fuck," he said as he covered her hand with his, making slight changes to her grip. He encouraged her to move her hand up and down, and to stay a bit longer at the tip, before going down again.

"It won't take long, tonight," he said, clearly trying to sound in control of himself. "I'm sorry."

She smiled at his obviously eager voice, relishing in the sense of power that came with knowing _he_ was the one to be losing it now. "Can I… can I go under? Touch you… skin to skin?"

"Yes! I mean, yeah," he tried to correct. "I mean, if you want…"

She held her breath in self-consciousness and a tinge of nervousness , letting go of him to then push the tip of her fingers under the elastic of his pants. She knew what to expect, in theory, but this was the real thing, and it was Ron, and she could hear his rapid breathing, echoed by hers; and she could feel the pliable skin covering the hardness within, nestled in coarse hair. She found herself forgetting to be tense, and instead getting in the moment as she discovered what being this intimate with Ron was like.

She started moving her hand as she had been before, now with a better grasp of his shaft. She grew more confident as she heard him gasping and groaning and moaning. "Faster," he said at one point and she could feel him tensing up; she could hear it in his hitching breath, and she simply kept moving her hand up and down, marveled at the effect such a simple thing had on him.

"Shit, fuck, Hermione," he said, and she felt the change in him, the slight pull under her hand, coming from the base of his member. She saw the wet patch appear on the fabric of his underwear, as he emptied himself in his climax, but didn't know to stop until his hand desperately closed over hers above the fabric of his pants again, to still her. He was silent, his breathing still quick, another _fuck_ coming out of his lips in a breath.

Pride filled her like a waterfall. She knew the sound Ron Weasley made as he came, and she'd done it for him, and she knew she would want to hear it again.

"That was..." Hermione said after a few minutes, struggling to find the words, both their breathing almost back to normal. She took her hand out and held it in the air, not knowing what to do with it.

"I'd love it if you said impressive," Ron said after a few moments, his voice suddenly sleepy, "but I know it wasn't. Sorry," he said again, to then look at her hand. She saw the fleeting look of shyness on his face as he reached for his wand and whispered a soft _Tergeo._

"But it was, in a way," she tried to reassure him after. "I'll... try to do it again, sometime."

He sighed. "I'm so fucking lucky," he said, and she felt his body relax as he fell asleep next to her.

* * *

 

A month of waking up early wouldn't have awoken Ron that morning if it weren't for his brain, which somehow had come to the conclusion that he was forgetting something important. Even though he was sure it had to do with the ceremony that they had been invited to, the sudden recollection of all he had done with Hermione the night before overpowered everything else.

"Holy shit," he whispered to himself, the memory of it immediately causing a twitch in his underpants again. A typical morning thing to happen to him, but one that he did not want to concentrate on at the moment.

He looked to his right at Hermione instead. She was sleeping on her side, facing him. Her left hand was under her pillow, her right hand holding the other's wrist. Her face was relaxed, slack in sleep.

He checked his watch, thankful that it was still early as he had forgotten to set his alarm the night before. Who wouldn't? His mind and his hands and his mouth had been full of Hermione.

"Fuck," he breathed out again, unable to stop himself from going over what he had done to Hermione the night before. And what she did to him. He had to shake his head slightly to clear his mind and bring it back to the present.

Even though his mouth was incredibly dry, his head seemed to be fine. He had had no problem remembering every single detail. He had drunk enough the previous night to make him go a bit crazy, and now that the alcohol had gone completely away he was a bit scared that he had gone too far, never mind what she had said.

So he forced himself to ignore his stiffy to focus on her, deciding to make sure they were all right, that she was all right. He lifted himself on his elbow and kissed her shoulder; when she still didn't wake up, he kissed her cheek, then her forehead.

Her eyebrows furrowed, followed by fluttering eyes. She focused on his eyes for a moment, before closing her eyes again with a frown. "I didn't hear the alarm. What time is it?"

"We have time," Ron replied. "It's a bit early."

"Then why did you wake me up? Aren't you tired? I'm tired."

"I know. We're... not sleeping as much, staying up late and, you know... doing things." He saw her smile at his words, and he continued. "I reckon I'm used to sleeping less by now."

She yawned, turning to lie on her back, stretching. He noticed her breasts wobbling and her nipples poking up the shirt as she moved, and quickly looked up to concentrate on her face.

_Not now, you git_.

"All right, I guess I'm awake, now," she said, her eyes slowly opening up and finding him. She smiled at him again. "I think I'm getting used to this, too. Waking up with you next to me. It's nice."

He moved his head up and down slowly, nodding his agreement, smiling back. He folded his arm up and under his head, using it as a pillow on top of his pillow, so that he was lying higher. He moved his other hand to rest over the sheet and on her belly, curling his fingers so that he could softly scratch the area.

"What we did last night... I just hope I didn't take it too far," he said, briefly chewing on his lip. He didn't know how else to say what was on his mind.

"I'd say that, perhaps... it was me who took it the farthest," she countered, and her blushing only caused him to smile in recollection.

"You bloody did, didn't you?" he joked, unable to stop himself. He kept on talking when she didn't answer. "It was... brilliant. The word seems wrong for it, but I don't know how else to say it without starting to babble idiotically to try to say how good it felt. But I also did things to you, and-and-shit, I'm just trying to make sure we're still okay."

She sighed, bringing the hand that was between them up to rub his forearm, his hand still on her stomach. "I know I went a little crazy last night-"

" _You_ went a bit crazy? _I_ was the one who thought it was a good idea to drink all that Firewhisky with my dinner, and _I_ was the one pushing us! I thought... last night, I mean. I thought that you did what you did because... well, because you were feeling sorry for me, or worse, because you felt you had to, for some reason." Just remembering the doubts and how quickly he had buried them just so that he would get to feel her hand on him like that shamed him.

"No, Ron," Hermione hurried to answer, turning on her side again to face him, coming closer to him in the process. He could see it on her face when she decided to steel herself to say whatever was on her mind. "I wanted to do it," she admitted. "It's true that you were being more forward, but it didn't bother me at all-I liked it, in fact. I remember thinking how it was good that we were finally able to move forward; that perhaps we're hesitating too much... you know, finding it hard to do all we want, when it shouldn't be."

"I didn't know that was a problem," Ron commented, wanting to know exactly what Hermione meant with all of this.

"I wasn't fully aware of it, not until last night. I hadn't put words on it, yet, either. But we're hesitating, always wondering if we're going too far and afraid of doing more."

"But isn't that a good thing?" he asked, confused, as hazy advice came back to his mind from several years before, whispering of how it was important to take it slow, and to be respectful.

"Yes! And no. Because it's making us afraid of saying the right words, even. It was only last night that you actually said the word sex, even if we've been referencing it since practically the first day we were together." Ron saw her purse her lips as she argued her case, and he suspected that she was doing it for him as much as for herself. "How are we going to have sex, if we can't even talk about it?"

Trying to ignore the thrill it caused him to think of them having sex, he put his attention on her meaning instead. "Yeah, all right. I get what you mean. I reckon I just don't want to make any mistakes."

"But we are going to, and what we need to learn to do is to talk it out with the same ease that we bicker, don't you think?"

"I think we've done pretty well, so far, to be honest. I know it doesn't make sense, but it seems like we're talking as much as we ever did, but more, too. Don't you think?"

"Yes, but I'd say there's still plenty of room for improvement, wouldn't you? We're bound to make mistakes. Everyone does, and we definitely have made a fair share of them in the past. Mistakes have never been our problem; not being willing to talk openly about things between us has always been our problem. We need to change that."

"Okay, yeah," he agreed. "I want that. But what- what does that mean for us and... uhm... us shagging, though?"

"That we have to trust that we're going to say what we like and what we don't. That way, we don't have to worry about whether we're pushing the other too far. And... considering that..." he saw her steeling herself again, and he prepared himself to what she was going to say next, even as he smiled. "Considering that," she started again, "I know that I want to do more, figure out how to touch each other, but I don't want the pressure of thinking that it has to lead to doing it all."

Ron considered what she said for a moment, trying to think things through. It was funny, but he thought he understood. Actually having sex seemed like such a big deal, that knowing it could happen at any time made it the full focus and that could get too distracting. But, if they could touch each other freely without wondering if _this_ was the time it happened, then they could simply enjoy the moment and let things happen naturally.

"All right," he finally said, coming up with a plan. "I think that the best thing to do is what we did last time, and know that we're not doing it-I mean, we're not completely going there-for, say, another two weeks? Then we talk about it again."

"Sounds good. Also... well, we're talking about this so this is the perfect time to discuss... contraception..."

"Oh," Ron said, feeling the tip of his ears going warm.

A flash of memories flooded his brain; images of his dad in the most awkward conversation ever, followed by a private discussion with Bill, and another, more crass conversation with the twins. It was his turn to steel himself.

"Well, Hermione, I'm not sure what you know of wizard contraception..." Ron began, wondering how on earth he should start to tell her what he knew.

"Oh, I know the spells," Hermione said, and Ron had to smile.

"Of course you do," Ron commented, thankful he didn't have to do it, after all.

"I just wanted to make sure we both... that we're both doing it."

"Oh, for sure." Ron assured her. "Children are definitely out of the picture for me, for many years to come."

"Me too, most definitely."

"So... I guess we're fine, then."

"We are."

"And we can go a bit crazy with each other, doing what we want to do without doubting so much, knowing we won't fully do it."

"Yes. I know we had the same conversation before, but... I think this time it means a lot more."

"It does... and Hermione, I can't wait."

* * *

 

As soon as Ron set a foot on the shop, he knew things were different. It wasn't so much that his relationship with Hermione was everything he had ever dared to dream, although that of course added to his great mood. It was that when he checked on George, he caught him working with Roman, both busy with receiving a delivery of different potions and materials George wanted to use to create new products for the shop. When he checked to see that George's absence hadn't affected customer service, he found Rajeev was manning the cash registers while Ginny worked the floor. By the time Hermione had arrived from getting ready at her house and joined Ginny, the shop looked like a well synchronized Quidditch team.

He inadvertently puffed his chest with pride, and went to deal with the paperwork for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this compensates for the evil cliffhanger from last chapter? Doeeeeeees iiiiiiiiiit? 0:-)
> 
> Also, guess what I did this week: wrote 1k+ words! And I could have written more had I had the time!
> 
> YAAAAAAAAAAAS, writer's block is officially gone!
> 
> I hope I'm not boring you guys with always thanking those who take the time to review. I may not be one of those writers who get huge amounts of reviews, but I love each one of them. Actually, my clinical opinion is that I'm developing an addiction to the dopamine rush I get every time I receive a notification that a new review has been sent… oops…


	27. At the Core

The call to her parents was over. Her father's voice now gone, silence surrounded Hermione like a fog. Her sigh was all that challenged its density.

The relationship was doing a lot better, when compared with the first few days after she had found them. But now there was a _tension_ , an underlying hum of nervousness and something else that had never been there before, back when she hadn't tampered with their memories. They were so _careful_ with each other, now.

Rationally, she knew the tension was there because they were still concerned for her, now that she was back in the wizarding world. They were still afraid of it and afraid for her, not that she could blame them.

The fact that she sensed that they were convinced she was seeing Ron seemed to be even more concerning to them. If her parents were anything like they used to be-and she had no reason to think they weren't-they were probably worried that it meant she was planning to live a fully-magical life... which was correct, really. She wished she could show them there was nothing to be concerned about; not anymore... well, at least to the degree that would have been justified during the war. Of course there were still plenty of risks; magic wasn't completely safe and there were plenty of Dark Wizards still around. But how was that any different from, say, electricity, or Muggle criminals? Life was full of danger, never mind which world you inhabited.

The real problem was that they didn't know the magical world like she did. Not knowing, not understanding was what made them so hesitant to be involved in it. The three of them were the kind of people that wanted to have all the facts in their minds before attempting to _do_ something, and her parents evidently couldn't have all the facts, nor _do_ anything about magic. So how could she tell them about her day, about the joy she had at doing the simplest of tasks with magic again, if they didn't want to hear it out of fear?

She knew it was that tension that was fueling their insistence that she went to visit them before the school year began. She had again tried to change topics and to evade a proper answer, but they were smart people and knew what was going on.

"Look," her dad had said shortly before the call was finished, "if you are having difficulties in coming because there's... someone... who's special to you... then maybe you can invite them to come. We'd love to... meet... him."

Yes, she was sure they knew about Ron. And now that they had suggested that they go together to Australia, Hermione was ready to jump on the plan. Ron going with her made so much sense! She could have some nice time with her parents, with Ron there to buffer on the tension and to be with her through all of it... and she couldn't wait for her parents to get to know who he had become.

She summoned again the notebook, map, and calendar she had been using, going over her idea and trying to imagine what it would be like. Because if on the way back they were to take a plane only to, say, Perth, and took Portkeys the rest of the way, then the path was clear for them and... and...

"Oh..." she whispered, having yet another idea. And she was sure Ron would _love_ this one.

She smiled.

She bit her lip.

And set herself to look at the map in a completely different way, thinking she would only spend a little bit of time on it, before going to have dinner at The Burrow and telling Ron about her plan.

* * *

 

Hermione was so excited that she skipped from her Apparition point to The Burrow's kitchen door. They were all having dinner there tonight, having accepted Molly's invitation to spend family time together now that Ron and George were living on the flat above the shop.

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said, smiling from ear to ear.

"Hello, dear," Molly replied. "I thought you were Harry and Ginny; they went to visit little Teddy but should be back any time now. I'm a bit late with dinner, but it should be ready in just a moment. "

"Do you need any help?" she asked out of obligation, hoping she would get a negative.

Her smile grew wider when she got it. "Don't worry," Molly said. "Ron offered, too, but I want to do this for the family and you all must be so tired from working at the shop non-stop. Go ahead and find him, I'll call everyone in a little while."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley!" she exclaimed in her enthusiasm, quickly taking Molly's advice and going to find her boyfriend.

She found him talking to George, Arthur, and Percy in the sitting room. She sat next to Ron on the sofa, taking off her jacket and laying it next to her before eagerly holding his hand.

He looked at her briefly with a bright smile, squeezing her hand in his, making her heart flutter. He quickly went back to what he was discussing before she arrived.

"So yeah," Ron said, "everything is going smoothly, to the point we're thinking we can start taking a day off here and there. You know, test the new people, and all that."

"That sounds like a good strategy," Percy noted. "You may want to wait a little bit and hire a couple more people; that way, you can organize workers in shifts and nobody needs to work seven days a week."

"Yeah, we talked about that, too," George commented. "We decided that we'd look into that in a couple of weeks, to give the new guys time to get used to the shop before they're left in charge of it and of newer people."

"You definitely have to think of that," Arthur recommended. "All in all, you have only a bit over a month to have everything working nicely, before Ron starts Auror training."

"That reminds me," Percy said. "I noticed you haven't sent your RSVPs to the Minister's Office, yet, none of you! I may be working there, but I cannot help you if you forget!"

"Don't worry, Perce. There's plenty of time... to decide if I want to go at all," George countered. "I don't know if I want to go, yet."

"Go to the ceremony, son. I know it's going to be hard for all of us to be there, but... this is meant to celebrate their memories."

"I'll think about it," George replied, his voice noncommittal.

"Hello, everyone," Ginny announced. "Mum said to call you in for dinner, come!"

Everyone got up to go sit at the table, but Hermione pulled at Ron's hand to keep him sitting with her a bit longer.

"I know I should wait to tell you, but I can't help myself-I'm so excited!" Hermione began, her voice low so as to not be overheard. Ron leaned in close to her to hear her better. "I had a _brilliant_ idea!" she continued. "I know it's a bit... presuming-and audacious-and I hope you like it as much as I do! It won't change anything, I don't think-"

"Hermione, we need to go have dinner. Be quick! We'll talk later," he admonished her.

"Assuming we can go, and I really, really want to- but I think we should spend a few days in France on our way back from Australia. Just the two of us," she clarified in a whisper. "The two of us, in a nice place, to... to make nice memories before I go back to Hogwarts," she finished, blushing in spite of herself.

"Bloody hell, Hermione- but that means-"

"Ron! Hermione! Come on, now, we're waiting!" Molly called from the kitchen.

Hermione looked at Ron, happy and excited and needing to see his reaction.

But when his face changed from confusion to incredulity, followed by briefest moment of panic in his eyes. When his face finally settled into a thin, upset smirk, Hermione knew something had gone awry.

* * *

 

Dinner was a tense affair between Ron and her. She thought at first that nobody had noticed, but reconsidered when Harry, sitting to Ron's other side, leaned in and whispered, "Are you all right, mate? I can see you fuming from here."

"I'll be fine," Ron had replied with a voice that very much made it clear that he would need a good row, first.

Hermione had reached for her glass of water and forced a cool gulp down her throat, wondering what she had done to make him so angry. He couldn't be mad about her new idea, could he? She thought he would be elated at the possibility of them spending a few days all by themselves!

By the time they were done eating and clearing the kitchen with a few well-executed spells, Hermione had worked herself up. Why couldn't he appreciate the fact she had wanted to do something nice for them? Whatever had pissed him off could never be more important than that! Him and his temper, always so inconvenient and… and… insufferable!

As soon as his parents and brothers had left the kitchen, Hermione stood still where she was to wait for Ron's explosion, getting herself ready to fire back as soon as he opened his mouth. Instead, he turned as if nobody else was there and walked to the kitchen's door, talking to the room and to everyone and anyone who would listen.

"Come on," Ron said, obviously talking to her despite his behavior, his voice barely monotone and contained. "Let's go talk outside," he added, stepping out without waiting for her, assuming she would follow.

She only did because at this point she needed the row just as much. She saw Harry and Ginny looking at them, unmoving in the kitchen as she stomped her way behind Ron. She needed to tell him a thing or two, starting by instructing him to never boss her around like that.

* * *

 

"What's wrong with the two of them?" Ginny asked Harry, seeing the door closing behind Hermione. She moved to look out the window, seeing her friend hurrying to catch Ron, her hands still and fisted on her sides.

"I don't know," Harry replied, coming to stand besides her, "but it's going to be ugly."

* * *

 

"What has gone up your _arse_ , Ron Weasley?"

"My arse? _My arse_?" he said indignantly, as he continued walking far from the house. Hermione knew it meant he wanted a safe distance, one where his raised voice wouldn't be heard. It only made her want to fight even more.

She had to take four steps for every two of his, but it didn't deter her in the least. "Yes, _your_ arse. I tell you I want to spend a few days in France with you before we have to spend _months_ apart, and apparently that is so disturbing that you got your pants in a twist!"

"So you're so blind that you can't see the bloody problem with that, huh?" Ron said, finally stopping a good way away from the house and turning around to face her.

He towered over her, but it didn't intimidate her. She straightened up and faced him bravely, her chin forward in defiance.

"Typical, entitled fucking attitude," he muttered. "I thought you understood when we talked about it!" Ron complained, his hand accentuating his words with two fast whipping motions.

"You're not making any sense, Ron, but what's new about that?" she sarcastically asked. "I don't see how you can possibly expect me to answer to that when you're talking like a troll!"

"Oh, a troll am I now, then? _Money,_ Hermione! I'm talking about money. Did you think of what we talked about, when you had your grand idea of going to bloody France? I bet you're thinking of a beautiful, marble-made fucking hotel in the coast of France, too!"

"Don't be ridiculous. We can stay in a three- or four-star hotel; there are plenty of those in the coast of France," she assured him haughtily, decidedly trying to ignore the pang of guilt that appeared in her chest. She had not thought of money; he was right about that. But she would never admit it, not when she had to prove her point.

"And how am I supposed to afford that, then? I told you I could barely afford the Portkeys we'll need to go to Australia, when you told me we would have to go by bloody airplanes. Now I don't have to worry only about that, but the fact you want to add a blasted stay at a hotel in the coast of France? How am I supposed to afford that?"

"I _told_ you not to worry about it. Or did you choose not to hear that? A characteristic Ron thing to do, if you ask me."

"Fucking unbelievable, Hermione," Ron exclaimed, his hands flying about him in his anger. "But I shouldn't be surprised. Kids raised in money don't ever think of it. Money should _never_ be a problem, why, it's just a _thing_ you use to get what you want! Always rubbing it on poor people's faces like it was nothing!"

"That's incredibly unfair! When have I _ever_ done that? Tell me just _one_ time I implied anything like that," she demanded, her voice shrill even to her own ears.

Ron scoffed. "What about now?" he asked ironically.

"That's totally different! This is me trying to gift something to my boyfriend! But your attitude is definitely making me think twice about it, just so you know!"

" _My_ attitude? What about yours?! You're asking me to let you pay a fortune for me to go to Australia, and think nothing of it?"

"It's hardly a fortune!"

"And there you go again proving my point, see? It's a bloody fortune to _me_! Did you stop to think of any of that when you were going over maps and hotel brochures? No, you didn't, because it's not a worry of yours. Then you come here and expect me to be happy about getting handouts like that. _Oh, poor Ron, he can't afford it but I'll pay for him, this is nothing to me!_ "

"It's not a handout if it's a gift!"

"Rich people always call handouts a gift, not to hurt poor people's fragile pride, have you noticed that? Because as much as you want to deny it, you tell yourselves that money is not about pride, and then go around happy with yourselves that you have such a beautiful heart that you can give away what you don't need anymore, proud as a cock for your humbleness!"

Hermione's throat constricted in hurt, his words a punch to her stomach. She had never, ever been like that, and she couldn't believe Ron could accuse her of it. And yet, his point was that people who had money were blind to that kind of thing, so maybe it was true and she had, after all. But she couldn't spend time on it; she couldn't focus on the possibility, because she needed to fight back now.

She hated every single tear that she felt spill out of her eyes in her hurt and anger. She steeled herself to show him as little emotion as she could.

"You're being truly horrible, Ron. Are you going to admit even for a bit that this is about stupid male pride, at all? Because if roles were reversed, I assure you that I would be expected to faint in joy, while fluttering my eyes up at you in devotion, all the while as I congratulate myself on having found such a perfect gentleman for a boyfriend!"

"You're totally missing my point!"

"I am not! You haven't made _any_ point, Ron, besides stating I'm a horrible person. What a lovely thing to say to one's girlfriend, isn't it?" she rhetorically asked, crossing her arms in front of her and looking down on him, despite their height difference.

"Aren't you going to admit even a little bit that you could have been a smidge more thoughtful with all of this?"

"Will you admit that your reaction was uncalled for?"

Ron huffed, raising his hands as if in defeat. "What an absolute load of rubbish. I'm done," he said, turning away.

He had taken two steps when Hermione called him back. "Don't you dare leave me here!" she exclaimed in her most demanding tone. "Don't you _dare_ walk away."

Ron immediately halted, his shoulders going up to his ears as if Hermione had flung an arrow between his shoulder blades with her words. His shoulders came back down slowly as Ron turned around to face her, looking her straight in the eye.

"I am not walking away," Ron said in a monotone voice again, his hand going to his pocket. "I was going to pick up your jacket before I take you to your home."

"Don't bother," Hermione replied with a scowl, wanting to hurt him in her rage, in her fear he was going to leave her, not thinking of consequences. "I can afford a new one."

She Disapparated to her bedroom, throwing herself on her bed, not bothering to undress for the night.

She already regretted what she had done. She _was_ a horrible person, after all.

She fell asleep with the sight of Ron's face frozen in hurt.

* * *

 

Ron stomped back into the kitchen, fuming, hiding in his anger to not feel the pain and the fear. He found Ginny and Harry sitting there, both their faces up to look at him as he came in.

"Oh-oh," Ginny said. "What happened? What did you do?"

"Oh, fucking brilliant, that's just what I needed," Ron complained. "It's me who has to have done something because no, Saint Hermione could not possibly have one insensitive cell in her body!"

"All right," Ginny began again, this time with a much more careful tone. "I'm sorry. What happened?"

Ron considered telling them for a moment, but finally decided against it. "Nothing," he spat, not caring that it was so obviously a lie, and left the kitchen to go looking for George.

Harry and Ginny followed, the sound of wood scratching the floor reaching him as they got up from the table.

"George left already," Harry announced as he got close to him again. He cleared his throat, looking at Ron with concern on his face. "Did you... break up?" Harry asked.

"No!" Ron exclaimed with a scowl, before thinking better of his answer. Solid rock lodged in his stomach as he considered their fight. "At least, I don't think so."

"Good, that's a start," Harry asserted. "I mean, this is not-you can talk about it, right? With her."

Ron shrugged, too cross to think of how to fix it, but knowing he was hoping to fix it soon, anyway.

"Will she go to the shop tomorrow?" Ginny asked, interrupting the growing dread in his chest and adding more to it, at the same time.

Ron, who had not thought about the possibility she would skip work the following day, looked back at Ginny for a moment before taking in a deep breath. "I don't know."

The three of them stood there in silence for a moment, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts. Ron finally lifted his arm to ruffle his hair, seeing Harry and Ginny exchange a quick look.

"Uhm, do you… want to... talk?" Harry asked awkwardly.

Ron let out a mirthless laugh. He appreciated the gesture, but the idea of rehashing what had happened didn't appeal to him in the least. "No, thanks. I think I better go to sleep."

"Are you sure?" Ginny insisted. "I don't like seeing you upset like this."

Her words gave him a bit of a lift, the strength of his anger finally abandoning him and leaving him spent. "No, Gin, thanks. This is for Hermione and me to figure out."

"Of course. Good night, then," Ginny said, giving him a quick hug. "See you tomorrow."

"See you," Ron said, half-waving and Disapparating directly to the flat.

George was talking a shower, and Ron waited to see him go to sleep, wanting to make sure his brother was doing well.

Then he went to his room and slowly changed his clothes, lying back on his bed, knowing even before he closed his eyes that it would be a sleepless night.

* * *

 

As expected, Ron had had a terrible night. As much as he had tried to spend the night hours figuring out what to do about the whole situation, Ron had failed and had instead fallen into a constant swing between being sorry for the things he had said to anger at what Hermione had said back.

He purposely spent time in his bed, trying to decide what to do, wanting to kill time. Then he had finally gotten up and showered, carefully styling his hair as if there was any hope that seeing him and perhaps liking what she saw would make her forget she was pissed off at him. Then he had had breakfast, starting to seriously dread the prospect of a day where he already knew he would be jumpy in waiting for Hermione to make a move.

Ron finally gave up stalling and decided to go downstairs to the shop only three minutes before it was set to open. He didn't know what to do or what to expect as he walked to his office, nonchalantly trying to see if Hermione had arrived yet as he made his way there. But he didn't see her, and ended up sitting on his desk but leaving the door open, just in case.

He heard her voice sometime after the shop had opened, but he didn't go looking for her and she didn't come to him, either.

"That's how it's going to be, then," Ron whispered to himself, taking his wand to close the door and spend the next few hours by himself.

He tried to concentrate on work, relentlessly bringing his mind back to balancing earnings and expenses, with ordering products and calculating projections. He still jumped when, several hours later, someone came into the office, making him think it was Hermione.

But the witch coming to him was Ginny, instead. She closed the door behind her and came to sit down in front of him.

"Hermione just announced to me that she was going to go have lunch at her house and that she was really busy with something, so she wouldn't return until the full hour goes by. She's still pissed off, Ron."

He looked at his sister, unable to stop himself from cringing. "Yeah, well, I'm still pissed off, too."

"What happened?"

Ron bit the inside of his lips, considering. He knew Ginny had asked out of genuine concern and not simple curiosity. He hadn't thought about talking to anyone, really, but maybe Ginny could give him a bit of advice, at least concerning one of that most important aspects of what had fueled their row.

"All right, let me ask you something, Gin," he started. "Don't tell this to anyone, okay?" He saw her nod her agreement before he continued. "Well, the thing is... does it ever bother you? That we don't have much money?"

She seemed shocked at his question, jumping a bit on her chair at his words. "Wow, okay," she said. "Uhm... Merlin, we never talk about this, do we?"

Ron scoffed, but waited for her answer.

"Well, I'll try to be honest, because I know you would have never asked if this didn't matter to you. Yeah, of course it has, in the past. When I had to work five times as hard as other people to be chosen for the Gryffindor's Quidditch team, because my broom was such rubbish. When friends planned to go out and do fun things, and I had to come up with excuses to not go because I couldn't afford it. When they told me about all the wonderful things they had done over the Summer, and all I could say was I swam on the pond a lot and played Quidditch with my brothers."

"You end up building this hard shell around you, to appear like it doesn't bother you, while hating that it does, so much," Ron continued for her, understanding.

"Yeah, just right." She shrugged. "I love our family. Our parents are worth all the gold in the world." Ron nodded, fully agreeing. "Doesn't stop me from wishing we had had a bit more money growing up."

They held each other's eyes for a moment, and Ron congratulated himself for talking to Ginny about it. Because he was thankful for it, he decided to not highlight the fact that at least she hadn't had to wear the same clothes five people had worn before her, and that being the only girl, she had had certain privileges, at times.

Instead, he chose to ask her more about it, as he realised that they were in a similar position, in a way.

"Harry has money..." Ron tried to say, not knowing how to take the conversation where he needed it to go. She hoped she would get it as quickly as she had gotten it before, when they had begun talking.

Ginny scrunched her face, but seemed to understand what Ron wanted to say. "It's never been a problem for us. He's a simple guy; he was never used to luxuries, either, was he? The Muggles treated him pretty badly and he got all of his cousin's hand-me-downs. It's like he doesn't realise he has all that money tucked away in Gringotts; he's still wearing the same clothes he had last year, for Merlin's sake. He doesn't realise that if he wants to do something different, or go out and have some fun, he can go and do it. He's pretty happy with staying at home and laying on a blanket by the pond, and just-well-never mind," she added, and Ron couldn't stop his own face from showing his displeasure.

"Please spare me," he said, most definitely not wanting to go there.

Ginny scoffed and half laughed, raising her eyebrow at him as if indicating with no words she thought him a prude. Ron ignored her, though, and soon she was back to the topic.

"Hermione has money, too," Ginny finally mentioned, to both change the subject and prompt Ron to explain what he needed to know better.

"But she does know she has it and that she can use it," Ron explained. He quickly decided that, in order to get her honest opinion, she needed to know a bit more. "She... she wants us to go to Australia for a few days to see her parents, and for them to get to know me," he continued, feeling the tips of his ears ablaze. "She says we have to buy aeroplane tickets to get there and... well, do you know how fucking expensive those are? Two-hundred Galleons! That much!" he added, not waiting to hear whether she knew how much they cost.

She whistled her surprise. "That's steep."

"Yeah, and I can't afford even a third of it! She wants to pay for it, and... other things... but... "

"It's like a slap in the face, showing you that you don't have the money for it. Like it's a handout."

"Exactly!" Ron straightened up in his chair, happy to have someone who got his point. "And she's my girlfriend, right? I should be able to do those things for her. This matters to her, I know it. But short of borrowing money, I can't pay for any of it."

"What if you let her pay for it, but as borrowed money? You pay it back when our wages kick in."

"Maybe. But then I'd rather borrow money from George."

"Then borrowing is not the issue. Are you sure the problem is not some kind of old-fashioned notion that Hermione shouldn't be paying?"

"Well, I wouldn't be happy to have to borrow from George, either..."

"That still doesn't answer my question," Ginny pressed.

Ron let out a quivering, annoyed sigh. Ginny had come up with the same argument that Hermione had, and because of the nature of their conversation, he was forced to think about it.

He looked down at his desk for a moment, the piece of parchment he had been writing on now skewed sideways on it. He took it and left it to the side, as if he didn't want it to distract him from his thoughts.

"Fine. Perhaps," he conceded. "But if I don't pay even for my share, then... then..."

"Then?"

"Then she has to take responsibility for me any time she wants to do something fun. Then we're not equals. Then... then what do I have to offer?" Ron finished, embarrassed, but unable to stop himself once he had admitted what was at the core of this fight for him.

Ginny must have realised that they had figured out what was truly bothering him, and got up to leave the office. She leaned across the desk and kissed Ron on the cheek, a loving gesture that she had never had with him.

He smiled.

"Well, my dear brother," she said as she stood up again. "I think that is for Hermione to answer. But for her to answer you, you have to talk to her."

"Thanks, Gin," he said, still smiling, even if a big ball of doubt and shame swirled in his belly.

With a wink, she left the room, humming to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me, please. I gave MUCH thought to this chapter. I made several deliberate decisions in its construction. I have rationales!
> 
> Now, I have a Serious Question to ask. Life has been very busy; even if now I want to write, I don’t have nearly as many opportunities to write as I wish. I haven't written anything new since the 1k+ from last week! In practical terms, this means that the number of chapters in my buffer (about 6 at this point) is getting lower every week, aka a decision has to be made: do I keep posting one chapter a week, and if/when I run out of them, I start posting new chapters as I finish them, hoping for the best in terms of frequency? Or do I maximize the number of chapters I have in my buffer, by posting every two to three weeks, in the hopes that will keep the posting schedule relatively constant?
> 
> Idk; I know it's my decision, but I'd like to know the readers' POV. Is there any idea or suggestion as to what is preferable? Let me know! I'd like to have it in consideration for my decision.
> 
> As always, thanks to my lovely reviewers: they make my day! And I totally do not stalk my inbox to check if somebody has left a review! Not at all!


	28. The Talk

Hermione escaped the shop half an hour before the official closing time. She went to Ginny and gave her a quick excuse about having to call her parents at a specific time, and left through the storeroom without risking even a glance at the office where she knew Ron was. He had been there all day. She knew, because she had kept track of him the whole time, despite pretending with her whole being that she was unaware of him.

She reached her home with a sigh, Apparating to the garden and petting Crookshanks, who had come to say hi as he had sensed her arrival. Then she heated one of the frozen meals she kept at the ready, and ate alone in the kitchen.

Hermione knew perfectly well she was avoiding Ron. She also knew she was doing it not so much because she was offended at what he had said, or even because she was still upset with him. She was doing it because she was ashamed that not only had she forgotten about Ron's hesitations regarding the trip to Australia, but she had used them to attack back. How could she do that to him? He had every right to be upset with her. And yet, she was forced to admit to herself that she had taken refuge in her own anger, so that she could keep Ron at a distance until she figured out what she wanted to do about it all.

She cleaned the dishes the Muggle way, to kill more time. Then she made some tea, deciding to go watch the telly for a little while. She turned it off after ten minutes, frustrated with herself. She picked up the book she had been trying to read, the third of the series she had told Ron about. She opened it at the bookmark and began to read, but found herself so distracted that she ended up having to read the same paragraph over and over again. She gave up after an hour, closing the book with a huff and leaving it on the coffee table.

With a sigh, she got up and went to wash her face, before deciding to go for a walk. Maybe the fresh Summer night would clear her mind. Maybe she would finally figure out what she wanted to say to Ron. Maybe, if she could do that, she would be able to allow her feet to take her to his flat, to face him and talk to him like a girlfriend should.

She went to her bedroom and combed her hair, pinning it to the side in a way that she thought made her face look nicer. She considered for a moment to wear one of Ron's shirts, too, but decided against it-it was a bit too much. She chose one of her favourite blouses instead, making sure she made up a good excuse as to why she was taking such effort in looking pretty for a simple night walk, something to tell herself and quiet her nervous mind.

She Disapparated to Diagon Alley, walking slowly, unable to make up her mind as to what she wanted to say. Despite her plan to wait until she did, her steps gained speed the closer she got to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and was almost running by the time she got to the back door. Then she stopped and looked up to his bedroom window: no lights shone through the curtains. She steeled herself and walked through the storeroom and up the stairs, knocking at the flat's door.

Nobody answered for a while.

She knocked again.

George finally opened the door, his hair wet and his hips covered by a towel. Hermione was so shocked and flustered that she could not say a word.

George rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Your boyfriend went out. You can come in and wait for him, if you like." And with that, he turned around and skipped back to the bathroom, leaving the door open behind him so that she could come in if she wanted.

She finally sat on the sofa, and attempted to read some of the magazines that were on the coffee table in front of her. She skimmed through a few articles. After a while, she heard George coming out of the bathroom and going to his bedroom. She kept skimming articles. After another while, George came out of his bedroom and went to the kitchen. Hermione followed him.

She was still a bit embarrassed about before, but she still forced herself to talk to him.

"Do you know where he went, George?" she asked.

"He didn't say, sorry. Did you eat?"

"Yes, I did, thanks."

She stood awkwardly nearby.

"How long ago did he go?" she asked again.

"Uhm, a little while before you came. Fifteen minutes, perhaps?"

Silence.

"Did he... did he look worried? Or upset?" she finally questioned him again.

George gave her a look, one that implied he did not want to get involved in this. "Hermione, I like you. I know you two had a row. Why don't you ask _him_ if he's worried or upset?"

She looked to the floor, embarrassed.

"I... I think I'll go," she said through a constricted throat, wanting to escape again. "Just... tell him I stopped by, will you?"

"I will if I see him," George said. "Otherwise just talk to him tomorrow, all right?"

She nodded and turned to leave. She Apparated to the park close to her home, still needing the walk. But as she turned the corner to go to her home, all she could feel was longing for Ron, as if she hadn't seen him in ages, or as if she wouldn't see him the following morning. Her eyes filled with tears, and she quickly blinked away to stop them from falling over. She knew she was being silly, but that didn't do anything to change the ache that was quickly taking a hold of her chest. She knew she wouldn't be able to do anything to feel better until she could speak with Ron. So why had she run out of his flat, instead of waiting for him?

Maybe she should backtrack and go wait for him. She mulled the thought in her mind, trying to weigh in the pros and cons of going now or waiting until the next day. She didn't realise she was walking faster toward her home, now that she was trying to decide whether she should go back to talk to Ron after all. George would probably be annoyed at her, but really, what was more important at the moment? Ron was more important. On the other side, if she waited, perhaps it would be easier to talk. But if she waited, Ron might think that she was more upset than she was. And she was missing him already, wasn't she? She hadn't begged her parents to let her return to England and to Ron to let her stupid pride keep her away from him. But if Ron was still cross at her, waiting might be the better option. After all, Ron-

Ron was sitting at her doorstep, one of his legs bent at the knee and on the top step, his elbow on it and his head on his hand. His other leg was stretched out, his hand on it. He looked worried, and he looked upset. He looked sad, too. Her heart did a double take, and she knew that if she hadn't been in love with him before, she would have fallen for him again, right there and then.

She slowly walked up to him until he lifted his eyes and saw her. She registered the shock on his face, before seeing him quickly scrambling up to his feet, standing in front of her, waiting for her reaction.

She wasn't far anymore and yet she ran to him, jumping to his arms and kissing him hard on the mouth, unable to help herself. He hugged her in return, lifting her up, and was soon kissing her back with all he had in him. They kissed for a few more moments, and Hermione then rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his arms strongly surrounding her. Then he let her stand on the ground again, and looked down at her. The butterflies in her stomach flew wild.

"Let's go inside and talk," she said, opening the door with her free hand. The other one was holding his, and she wasn't planning to let go.

* * *

 

Ron sighed as he let himself drop onto the sofa, his arm automatically open in invitation for Hermione. She gladly took it, sitting close to him, her head on his shoulder.

"If only we had always ended our rows this quickly and with a kiss," he commented, resting his head on hers.

"That would have surely saved us a lot of heartache, I believe," she asserted. After a moment, she decided to continue. "I... I went looking for you at the flat. I thought I would have to wait until tomorrow to talk to you."

"So that's where you were," he said. "I was wondering. But if you wanted to talk to me, why did you leave so early then? I was gathering my courage to go talk to you, but you had already gone by the time I tried to find you."

"I know, I'm sorry. I think I needed to-to have the room to think."

"Do you think it's always going to be like this? Having to step away and think by ourselves before we can come to a resolution, I mean."

"I hope not! I didn't like it one bit today. I was jumpy and worried all day."

"Me too," Ron agreed. "I kept pretending I was fine waiting while thinking of you the whole time, trying to think of what to say to make it better."

"And you figured it out? I never got to that point..."

"You still went looking for me and that's what matters, isn't it?" He kissed her on the forehead. "But, you know, all day I kept thinking, why have we been so good with talking more since getting together?"

"I thought it was because we got to... release... some of the tension, now that we can kiss and do things..."

Ron laughed. "Yeah, that definitely has helped."

"Also, I think that it helps that we're not constantly second guessing ourselves; we say what we think about each other more now that we don't worry whether it's going to be too obvious we fancy each other."

"Yeah, that's also true. I didn't think of either, but as I went over our talks, I felt all proud that I thought of something I want to say."

She felt the movement of his shoulder, and didn't need more than that to lift her head to look at him.

"Remember what you said the other day? That we should be able to talk about sex if we were thinking of having sex?"

"Yes," she replied, curious.

"Well, I think we should be able to talk about our relationship, if we want to keep having a relationship. Nice, huh?"

She smiled, reaching up to give him a small kiss on the lips. "Yes, Ron, very nice. And true, too."

"So, I think we should talk about what happened."

She sighed. "Yes, I agree."

Hermione moved on the sofa so that she could face him, and he did the same.

"I'm sorry that I forgot what you said about not being able to afford the tickets and all of that," Hermione began. "If I had, I would have been more careful on how to approach this new idea of mine, and would have thought more about it. And... and I crossed a line, Ron, I'm so sorry! I was vile! I hate that I get so... so hurtful when I'm upset..."

"I always knew you're like that, though," Ron tried to pacify her.

"But it's no excuse! I should have never said what I said-you know, at the end."

She saw the hurt briefly crossing his face, but it went away, his face setting on a more placid gesture.

"It's all right."

"No, it isn't," she insisted, knowing she had hurt him.

This time, his smile was genuine. "I think we can both agree that we said things we shouldn't have... as usual."

She smiled back, knowing he was right. "As usual, yes."

He sighed. "I should explain a few things to you, too."

"Oh?"

"First, well... I still don't think I can afford to pay for the ticket and for a stay at a hotel, Hermione."

She immediately felt the sadness take over her, disappointment and resignation taking the wheel. But she still needed to give it another go, now in a better, more respectful way. She looked down to his chest, and she put her arm where her sight was, right above his heart. "It really, really would mean the world to me if you could go, Ron. Just yesterday, before going to your house, they were insisting on the trip again and said I could take you if I wanted... and I really want to. I don't know how to make it happen, though, without offending you! Is there... some sort of middle ground?"

Ron pursed his lips, moving his head from side to side. "Look. I wish I had enough money to say yes, let's do it. I'd love to make you happy like that, but... but I need to pay my share. I'm embarrassed that I can't right now, believe me. Yet if I don't pay for it, then I feel like we're not equals, right? Like you will have to always stop yourself from doing what you want unless you want to pay for me. If we're not equals, then I'll feel less. I need to feel-to feel that we both give, here. If I don't, then... then I feel like I have nothing to offer and like I'm not good enough for you..."

"But that's all nonsense!" Hermione exclaimed, upset. "You are everything I want. I've never cared about the money, which I know, it's easy for me to say because I have it. Your family may not have as much as my parents do, but you have each other and the _warmth_ at the Burrow is _everything_. You are so much more than what you're able to pay for. I thought I knew how to handle the feeling you have, and I thought I understood, but if you say I don't then I'll believe you. I never thought it was a problem between us, but if it is, then let's figure out how to solve it!"

"It's not a problem so much, really, not usually—especially now as I start making money and later, when I become an Auror. Then I'll have enough for it not to be a problem."

"But then will you have a problem if I make more than you? Will you feel less, if you make less? Because you shouldn't! Ron, you do sound like this is about you being the man of the relationship and having to have money to treat me to... to _things_!"

"But it's not! Not really. I don't know, I don't think I would have a problem if you made more than I..."

"Then?"

"I'm just embarrassed, all right? We'll go to your parents' house thanks to them paying for it, me in my old clothes... they're not going to like what they see! Then they're not only going to dislike me because I'm a wizard, but because I'm not good enough for you. I don't want you in that position, having to worry about that on top of your own relationship with them."

"Oh, Ron" she half exclaimed, half whispered. He was avoiding her eyes, now, after saying that; she knew it was his true concern, what really fueled his side of the fight. Her heart felt heavy for him, and she dearly wished there was a spell she could use to make him see himself the way she saw him. She knew if it existed, and he saw himself like that, all his doubts would be erased. But there was no spell, and she was stuck with using what felt like powerless words. "My parents are well-off, but they're not materialistic. They won't care. _I_ don't care. I truly do hope they'll see how happy I am with you and they'll like you for it. We might not be on the best of terms yet, but they still want me to be happy."

"And are they so well-off that they won't care to pay all that money for me? Dunno, something tells me they won't like the idea of paying for Portkeys on top of plane tickets... not to say anything about a hotel where I'm going to be spending alone time with you!"

Her hand went up to his face. "But they don't have to know, you see? It's not them who are really paying for it, it's me. I told you, they set me up with a very good savings account. I... I don't know if this is what you want to hear right now... but..."

"Just say it," he growled as he scrunched his face, preparing himself for whatever she was going to say.

She shrugged, deciding to go for it and scrunching her own face. "Paying for all that stuff won't really make a significant dent in my savings."

Ron opened his eyes wide as he processed this information and finally whistled. "Wow. I mean, I always knew you had money, always going abroad during breaks and things like that but... bloody hell, you _are_ rich..."

"I am not!" Hermione scoffed, feeling slightly offended. "And I couldn't care less about it! It's all Muggle money, isn't it? And it's my parents' money, really. They set me up nicely, but they also taught me the value of hard work and of being money wise and independent. I am still going to strive to stand on my own feet as soon as I get out of Hogwarts, and by then you'll be better off than me, won't you? Working at the shop _and_ being an Auror. Do you want me to be upset about it? To not let you help me out in whichever way you can?"

"Well, no," Ron said. "If I can help you in any way I can then, I'll be really happy to do it."

"Exactly! You wouldn't think less of me for it, would you?"

"Of course not!" he exclaimed, and then he scoffed, evidently realising he couldn't argue that it had to be different in their current situation, when she was the one to have a bit more money.

"Yes, I am currently in the position of being able to pay for a bit more than half of it; maybe sometime in the future it'll be reversed. That's okay. As long as we're together for a long time, scales are going to balance out. And even if they didn't, I couldn't care less, don't you see? To me you're the walks on the beach and how it feels when you hold me, not the tickets we need to go to France and make it happen."

He smirked, looking at her with a mix of mirth and gratefulness and admiration in his eyes; she knew he had reached a point where he could not only understand where she was coming from, but believe her as well.

He leaned forward and softly kissed her once. "All right, let's find a middle ground here. Suppose we figure out a way to go without putting George nor the shop at risk-"

"Yes, this is what I thought. I go there, spend a few days on my own with them. Then you go to a safe place close to my parents' house in Melbourne by Portkey, and I'll pick you up from there and take you with me. We spend a few days with them, and then leave by taking a plane to Perth. We take a Portkey from Perth to France, spend a few days there, you know... on our own. Then we take a Portkey back to England and all's fine!"

Ron tried to hold back his smile for a moment, but then let it cross his face. "Yeah, that sounds good... especially the France stop, if you ask me."

"Right? Think of it. Two or three days alone, no interruptions, no work... just you and me..."

Ron's smile wavered a moment and he gulped. "Yeah, that sounds... sounds perfect."

"I know," she whispered, knowing they were thinking of the same thing.

"Will your parents be okay with that, though? I can imagine their faces at the airport in Melbourne, seeing their daughter taking a plane to spend a few days alone with her boyfriend!"

Hermione blushed. "Well, no, that wouldn't work. That's why... I think we should not tell them; maybe not tell your parents, either."

Ron perked up, thinking over what she had just said. "You mean... hide it from them?"

"Only to save them the worry! We can tell my parents we need to return because of business reasons and for me to prepare for Hogwarts, while we tell your parents... you know..."

"That we'll still be with your parents," he finished, following her plan with no problem. "You're a wicked one, Hermione."

"Well," she countered, "I guess that if it's really a problem, we can skip the France stop. As long as we go to see my parents, then I'll be pleased."

"Are you mental? The France part is the best part!"

"That's more like what I expected from you," she asserted. "I thought you would like the thought of it!"

"Oh, I do," he said, his smile mischievous as his eyes traveled down her body.

"And, well... we could say that I'll pay for my room in France, and you pay for yours..."

"What?! I thought we would stay together!"

"Oh, then you're invited to stay in my room... and since you won't be using yours... then I think it would be a waste of money to spend it on an extra room. Just stay in mine..."

Ron smirked. "I know what you're doing... and I'm fine with it. I'll pay for the Portkeys, but... but you can pay for the rest, if that's still okay with you."

"Oh, Ron, yes!" she exclaimed, jumping up to his lap and kissing him hard on the lips once more.

Ron responded enthusiastically, squeezing her in his arms, bringing her close to him. She immediately straddled him, not stopping to think about it beyond the fact that it made it so much easier to kiss him. It felt amazing to kiss him like this again, a sense of abandonment quickly setting in; if there had been any doubts there still were unresolved things between them, being this close proved there weren't.

Not a minuted had passed before he grabbed her around the waist with an arm to hold her close to him, while twisting and turning to lay her down on the sofa. He immediately positioned himself on top of her, resting his weight on his elbows, and kissing her with all he had. Again she didn't question it, and reached up to start unbuttoning his shirt.

"Fuck," he breathlessly said, and she knew he had liked it. "Shit, no," he said again in a much different tone, scrambling up to sit on the couch.

"What, what?" she asked, confused, lifting her torso up to rest on her bent arms, now.

"I almost forgot, there's something else I wanted to tell you..."

"Is it important?"

"Yes."

"Can it wait?"

"I... I guess..."

"Then come here," she said, demanding, and making herself not worry about it.

He liked it, he groaned, and looked like he almost was going to go back to being on top of her, but didn't.

"No, shit, sorry. I need to tell you this, or I'll- or I'll let it go and will probably never tell you, until you ask me about it."

"Oh... all right," she said, suddenly nervous. She sat up to sit in front of him again, just as before, and begged her heart to calm down a bit.

He messed up his hair with one of his hands, looking at her with more embarrassment.

"I hate myself for this," Ron began. "I would prefer to never have to discuss this, really... but-but I think you deserve to hear all of it. It's been nagging me lately, 'cause it's been coming up again even though it happened so long ago. I complained the other day because you forgot to tell me something important that had an effect on our relationship, and then I go on and hide something that is evidently still having an effect on me, and, of course, on us..."

"Ron, you're rambling... and you're making me nervous."

He sighed. "Fine. Thing is, I was really pissed off yesterday... and when I turned to go get your jacket, you said..."

"I asked you not to leave me there," Hermione finished for him, remembering his reaction at his words, and already sensing where this was going.

"I don't know if it reminds you of the same thing it reminds me, but... Merlin, Hermione. Those words are still seared in my brain. I can't believe you thought I was going to leave you again."

"I... I didn't think it like that, honestly, Ron."

"I told you when we got to Shell Cottage, remember? Maybe you don't, because Fleur gave you all that pain potion before you went to sleep. But when she was gone and I was trying to say goodnight, you held my hand and asked me to stay for a little while. I ended up staying the whole night, remember?"

"I do," she replied, reaching for his hand just like she had that night.

"You asked me to talk to you, and I did until you fell asleep. I was talking mostly senseless stuff, but... but suddenly I started saying other things... I don't know if you heard..."

"I heard," Hermione said, feeling her eyes filling up with tears. "You said... you said you'd never leave me again, and that you were not making excuses but that you weren't yourself when you left and that you were sorry..."

"Even more so because I had never explained or tried to tell you any of it, and then you could have- you had almost died and I- come here," he demanded this time, and again she went to him, but this time because they suddenly needed the comfort of being close.

She sat on his lap, her legs stretched to the side on the sofa, her head on his chest. His arms went around her again, and one of her hands found its place flat against his chest once more.

"I said something else that night," he continued after a moment, and she could hear in his voice that he was feeling emotional. "I said I would keep all of my promises, never mind how much it cost me, because I never wanted to see you hurt again..."

Hermione was surprised at those words, as she didn't remember them clearly. Still, when he had mentioned them, they caused a spark to appear in her chest as if she _had_ heard the words before, after all.

"I think-I think I remember," Hermione said. "I don't have a clear memory of it; I must have been falling asleep. But I think I do remember..."

"Well, yeah. I know I wasn't making much sense, anyway. I think I was-in shock, I suppose, from all that happened that day. But I do know I never told you what those promises were. Back then, I thought I should tell you when I knew you were listening. I thought it was the least I could do, you know? But I never did, Hermione, I never did."

"Is that... does that have to do with the Deluminator, then? You said it reminded you of your promises..."

Ron sighed once more, the tremor in it apparent in his chest, against her face. "Yes. Exactly. You're brilliant; I know you're figuring this out already. You know how all of this connects with my reaction at your words last night, don't you?"

Suddenly it was all clear to her. Ron leaving her, the promises he made, and the Deluminator. He was talking about the time he left them during the Horcrux hunt.

"Gosh, Ron, is this about when you left us?" She lifted her torso away from him, enough so that she could see him. His eyes were full of sorrow, his lips pressed tight into a thin line. "I know we never talked about it," she said, "but... you must know I forgave you for that a long time ago, don't you? Because I did. I forgave you! And I know I should have said so, too, and now I'm so sorry I didn't!"

"I really hoped you had," he countered, "but I never got the bollocks to talk about it, did I? I think I built it up so much in my head; all the time I was gone, I kept making promises and repeating them to myself to never forget. _I'm never going to leave again. I'm going to be the best friend possible if I ever can go back, and if they'll have me._ " She saw him scoff and give her a sad smile. " _I'll force myself to be happy with just being Hermione's friend forever, as long as she forgives me for what I've done_. You see, I thought there was no chance in hell you'd take me as more than your friend after what I'd done. I think... in part, I think that's why it took me so long to kiss you. I was afraid you'd say no and I'd ruin our friendship-and I had promised to myself I would never risk that again, ever."

"Oh, Ron, no," she exclaimed, her heart breaking a bit for him and for them. "So while you were telling yourself that you would try to remain happy with being my friend, I was dreaming of the day we'd be more than that."

"Well, I did dream that as well, if I'm honest. Especially after-well-"

Hermione saw him hesitate, she saw the doubt in his eye, and how it was gone and replaced with resolution.

"Hermione, I've never told you this. It was one of the reasons why I didn't talk to you about me leaving in the first place, once I had returned. I was afraid you'd have questions and I would be forced to talk- to tell you about what it was like to destroy the locket."

Hermione felt herself pale at his words. She remembered how he had reacted when they decided she should destroy the Horcrux during the battle, telling her how important it was that she did not hesitate, because it might want to fight back. She remembered the fear in his eyes, the cold chill that went down her back at the sight of his concerned blue stare. She remembered him telling her he'd hold the cup down against the ground, and that she should stab it right away, with as much strength as she could muster.

She had frozen when she had seen it shake on the cold stone floor; had been petrified when it had started to glow and a light had started to shine, blurry images appearing in the light rising from it. But Ron had let go of the cup with one hand and lifted it to her face, making her look him in the eye, and telling her " _Do it, now! Do it!_ " and the look in his eyes, the warmth of his hand, had given her the strength to stab it with all her might.

"Did... did it defend itself?" she asked, connecting the dots. "Ron, is that why you knew I had to be quick to destroy the cup?"

Ron nodded before speaking up. "Yeah. I wasn't sure... I mean, the cup hadn't gotten to know you the way the locket had gotten to know me, but I knew it could still try to scare you and hurt you. It's... that's what it did, to me. The locket tried to make me weak, by showing me my worst fears."

"No, Ron," she began, but couldn't continue.

"It spat all these things at me, Hermione. It... it repeated what it had been telling me as I wore it before, but worse, it showed it to me now. He mentioned my mum, my family... and you, of course. It... bloody hell, I don't-"

"I want to know, but if you can't—I suppose you don't need to tell me-" she quickly tried to reassure him, wanting to know nearly as much as she wanted to spare him.

"No, I have to tell you. Because... as much as I tried not to, the whole thing made me hope, after. The thing is... the locket knew me. It had seen my fears. That's what it said, _I've seen your heart; I have seen your fears._ " He lifted a hand and rubbed his face. "It told me you would never want me, because I was nothing. It told me you loved Harry, and not me, and would choose him. It told me you had already chosen him. It knew… what it would do to me."

"What?! Ron, you can't possibly... Harry? You never... did you?" she half asked, shocked into incoherence. She could feel her own face slack with the shock of it.

"Yeah, I did! Of course I did. I kept going back and forth on it during the years, but it was never as bad as when we were on that tent and I was wearing the locket. Then I'd know, just _know_ you two were together and just hiding it out of pity. I... shit- the thought of being friends with the two of you as you lived your lives as a couple, seeing you kiss him and seeing him doing what I longed to do- it broke my heart every time you looked at him, Hermione."

"But I never-never! - Harry- we could have never worked out. I thought it was so obvious-all the hints, all the time you and I spent alone... Harry is the closest to a brother I've ever had. It was you; it was always you!" She fisted her hand and hit his chest; she was furious and she was horrified to think he had ever thought otherwise. She hit him once, then twice.

"Ow, Hermione, stop," he said, stilling her hand against his chest by covering it with his. "That's what Harry said. And then, when you were so mad when you saw me, I thought... well, you have to have cared about me, right? Or it wouldn't have mattered to you either way. And what can I say, I was madly in love with you, so even if I told myself I would be happy with just being your friend... well, I couldn't help having hopes, could I? I never could. I always had hopes."

"Gosh, Ron-you can be such an idiot, sometimes," she said as she kissed him hard over and over again, wanting to show him just how much she did feel for him.

"It's always been you," she repeated between kisses and touches again, some time later. "Only you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost didn't post today, but here we are! I hope you liked this chapter; I really like it myself. It makes me want to hug Ron close and squeeze him hard awww
> 
> Sooo, the "posting every few weeks" alternative won :) not only did it get the most support, but I realised that I can use the time that I spend preparing the chapter for posting it to write instead. It takes me up to two hours to read one last time, do final edits, "code", and post. Those are two hours I could be writing each week!
> 
> I'll start posting every two/three weeks now, unless I magically get a good chunk written again and/or I finish the story. Don't forget to cheerlead my writing, though! Lol, no, really, I appreciate the support. And of course, as usual, thanks to everyone who's liking, binging, and reviewing! It makes my day :)


	29. Idyllic

"We need to go," Hermione said as she broke their kiss, both still in bed despite the late hour, the sheets a mess and tangled around them. Ron went back to kissing her immediately, his hand going up under her shirt to squeeze her breast. "Roooon..."

"Just a bit longer. Fuck, I love your tits," he insisted, going to kiss her on the neck-his current secret weapon. She liked it, a lot.

"Ohh... Ron," Hermione tried to insist, squirming under him, shivering. He played with her nipple, enthusiastic, unable to stop. "The shop... we're late..."

"I know," he said as he quickly lifted her shirt up to her armpits, shimmying down her body until he could close his lips around a puckered tip. She moaned, making it all harder for him-both literally and figuratively. "I don't want to stop," he said.

"I don't want you to, but..."

"C'mon, we have five more minutes," he said, quickly checking his watch, and jumping a bit when he saw the time. "Shit, no, we don't," he corrected, quickly standing up and away from the bed. "I can't be late, not with the new people working here."

"That's what I was trying to tell you!" Hermione agreed, following him out of the bed and pulling her shirt down, looking for her pajama pants. She found them and quickly stepped in them, reaching then for her wand.

"I reckon I have to set the example, now."

"Exactly!"

"What have you made of me, Hermione?" Ron dramatically complained, jumping into his own pajama pants. "I'm thinking of being responsible now, and of setting examples!"

She laughed, but didn't bother answering him.

"Got to go; I need a shower. Will be back in twenty minutes," she announced.

"Sure. See you later?"

"Yeah, bye," she said, impossibly turning and twisting in her spot, curling into herself as she Disapparated.

With a big, silly smile, Ron went to take a shower himself, to then make breakfast in record time. He was in the process of stuffing himself with food when George came out of the bathroom.

"I made you breakfast," Ron tried to say through a mouthful.

George was adept at that kind of language, though, because he came to the kitchen and thanked him.

"Brilliant," George said, and began stuffing his face as well.

Only two minutes before the workday began, and as they went downstairs, Ron asked George about the current state of his new inventions.

"Oh, it's hit and miss right now. I'm mostly testing simple stuff, you know, to get into it again. Roman finds it hilarious, and is really a good help. And Cassia, well, she's been really into it, asking questions and everything. It's good; it's stimulating."

"That's great," Ron commented and, stopping him by the arm a second before they were going to go their own ways, he awkwardly asked, "and... the rest? How's the... other stuff... you know..."

He decided to shut up and hope George had gotten his meaning.

He did, shaking his head in a negative as if it were something he didn't really want to discuss, one of the corners of his mouth curled down. "It's still there, but... less. Or shut down a bit, rather, with all the work."

"So it's working... your idea, I mean."

George didn't answer, but this time his head nodded a yes.

"Good! Good. Then..." Ron tried to change topics, feeling more awkward than ever.

"I'll just go," George announced through a groan, walking to the storeroom and disappearing behind the door.

"Fucking idiot," Ron mumbled, referring to himself, as he went to check that everything was okay on the shopping floor. "Hi, how's everything?"

"Hi!" Cassia said, coming back from opening the front door for the day. "Everything's great."

"Awesome," Ron replied, smiling.

"Hermione going to be here soon, do you know?" Ginny asked, preparing the cashiers with Rajeev.

"Yeah, should be here soon," he confirmed, unable to stop himself from thinking of what had made them late, his ears going slightly red as a result.

"Good morning, can I come in?" a familiar voice came from his back, distracting him.

"Neville!" Ginny exclaimed, having seen who it was. Ron turned around, excited to see him again.

Ginny had reached him first, hugging him close. Ron got to him, and did the same.

"Hey, mate! What are you doing here so early? I haven't seen you since-" the joy in his words quickly died, a flash of the last images he remembered with Neville running through his mind. "Since the battle," he finished, in a serious tone, noticing how the happiness at seeing each other again was quickly dampened by the memories of the fight. No one could think of the battle and feel lightly about it.

"Yeah, we haven't," Neville confirmed, lifting his hand to a small scar on his jaw. "A few things have changed."

Ginny lifted her hand to it, a finger touching it lightly before coming down. "I think you still look dashing. And you'll always be my first dance, too. That always stays in a girl's heart, you know?"

Neville laughed softly. "And here I thought you'd remember me for all the fighting we did last year together. I thought I was your partner in crime?"

It was Ginny's turn to laugh. "That, too. It reminds me, have you heard about Luna? I know she went on a little trip with her dad."

Ron started to feel a bit uncomfortable. He had not thought to keep track of everyone, like Ginny evidently had.

"Yeah, she's back! She came back last week. Wrote to let me know she had brought back a few samples of strange plants she found while exploring around."

"Neat," Ron exclaimed. "I'm curious to see what those will be! Probably some innocent weed, but she'll insist they're Pepperwish Callendonis, which can cure plantar pustules or something like that!"

They all laughed, but it contained a lot of affection. So much so, that Ron knew what he wanted to do about not keeping track of them. "We should all get together, huh?"

"Yeah, let's," Ginny insisted, as Cassia motioned her for help. "Let me know what the plans are, and I'll pass it along to Harry."

She left them, and Neville turned to Ron. "So, are you going to join the Aurors?" Neville asked.

"Yeah, I am! I'm starting in September."

"Me too! We should be in the same group, then?"

"I hope so! It'll be good to be in there with a friendly face. I hear the training is exhausting."

"Oh, yeah? Harry, then? I thought you two would do the training together."

"Me too, to be honest," Ron explained. Then he pointed about the shop, his finger doing a big circle around. "But this happened."

"I see. But this is good, too, isn't it?"

Ron, surprised to discover what the answer was, replied in a bit of a shock. "It... is, actually, yeah."

"That's nice. Well, I was in the Alley and thought I'd stop by, say hi and all. I want to invite Hannah Abbott to the ceremony the Ministry is organizing, do you remember her? I want to buy her a little something, too. But let's talk about getting together on Friday, then?"

"Yes, of course I remember. Hannah, eh?" Ron teased, smiling. Neville smiled back, evidently happy with the whole thing. "So yeah, sounds good. Let's go out on Friday, after we close here. Will you let Luna know?"

"Sure! See you on Friday," Neville said, waving and turning to go. Before he took a step away, Ron spontaneously reached him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," he said. "It was really nice to see you."

"Same, Ron."

* * *

 

A few hours later, Hermione's mind was blank as she silently stacked boxes in the storeroom, one on top of another in her cart. One by one, shiny new packaged products were organized, ready to be taken to the showcases as people bought one thing after another. She then checked the list she was holding in her hand, to make sure she was taking back everything that was needed.

"Here you are," Ron's voice came from behind her, and she had barely enough time to start turning before he had reached her, hugging her from behind.

"Oh, hi," she said, smiling, pleased at this show of affection.

He lightly kissed her on the side of her face. "You want to go out for lunch?"

"Sure. Let's just finish with these products, here."

Ron helped her, and she couldn't help but smile again at the easy companionship of being side by side, replenishing the shelves of the shop.

"Ready?" he asked her once they were done, offering her his hand, and she took it at once.

"Yeah, let's go," she said, and they left the store hand in hand.

It was a hot Summer's day, the sun bright on them as they walked to find some place to eat. Finally Ron mumbled something about making a tradition out of it as he took her to Fortescue's.

"We're lucky they expanded the menu, really, at this rate," he complained, although he was in a good mood still.

"I like it here," she said.

"Good, because it's one of the few damn places we go to. There's not much in Diagon Alley, is there? Hey, maybe that should be the Weasleys' new endeavour: Weasleys' Flavourful Foodstuffs. Then we could always have a full menu's worth of food I like!"

Hermione laughed at his dreamy fantasy and slight crankiness, knowing it was all fueled by his hunger.

They ordered, and went back to talking easily.

"Maybe we should go to a Muggle place on Friday," Hermione suggested, thinking back to what Ginny had told her about Neville's visit.

"Yeah, sounds good. And, well, talking about Neville," Ron began, with a little smile. He looked like he was laughing at himself almost as much as he was feeling self conscious, immediately piquing her interest.

"Yes?"

He reached for her hand, clearing his throat. "Hermione, I realised I forgot something important..."

"Oh?" she exclaimed, curious and unavoidably a little nervous.

"It's been nagging me for a few days, but it wasn't until Neville mentioned something about it that I connected the dots."

"Tell me, then," she insisted, bracing herself for whatever was to come.

"Hey, a bloke is entitled to feeling a bit jittery with these things..."

"Ron," Hermione began. "Stop it, and say what's on your mind."

He leaned in closer to her, looking her in the eyes. Hermione unknowingly held her breath.

"Hermione... will you be my date for the ceremony at the Ministry?

"Ron!" she exclaimed in a much different tone, reprimanding him, letting go of his hand and swatting it away.

He laughed, and she laughed, too, reaching again for his hand.

"I'm sorry," he began, "but I meant it, in a way. I realised I just assumed we'd go together, and, well..." he shrugged. "I thought I'd ask you. Make it official and all..."

"Don't be ridiculous. We're together. Who else am I going to go with? Besides," she added, "I already sent our RSVP, noting that I'm your guest and you're mine."

"Oh, you did? Sure we were going to go together, were you?"

"Of course! Or were you planning on inviting someone else?"

"Don't you be ridiculous, now. It's not about that, but... well... you did tell me not to ask you as a last resort, remember?"

Hermione was shocked at his words, but the memory easily returned to her mind.

"That... that doesn't apply here, unless you were actually considering your options?" she asked, her eyebrow raised in question, her voice slightly shrill.

They got their food, and he laughed as the waitress left them alone again.

"'Course _not_ , Hermione! That's not what I mean. But the whole thing did remind me of the Yule Ball, in a way. We're going to get all fancied up and spend a few hours in a kind of party and, well... dunno, I thought I could at least make the effort to ask you out for it, you know... to sort of compensate... never mind, forget it, I'm a total git for even thinking about it."

Ron, who had quickly lost his confidence as he tried to explain his motives, looked down to his plate, playing with his food for a moment before realising what he was doing. He left his fork on the plate, taking his hand away to the side and looking up to Hermione again, gauging her reaction.

She smiled at him, touched at his awkward thoughtfulness. "I think that was sweet, Ron," she told him, and saw him smirk, rolling his eyes. She knew he didn't agree with her; she knew he would never see himself as sweet.

* * *

 

The next day, Ron finished the work day by holding a meeting in preparation for Friday evening and Saturday. He stood by the cash register, leaning against the counter and surrounded by everyone who worked at the shop, George next to him.

"So, three of us are taking a few hours off Friday evening. George will be here, and those of you working can come to him if you need anything." Ron saw them all nod their understanding, and continued. "On Saturday, Ginny will come to work a bit late, but she'll be here. She'll have the day off on Sunday, but Hermione and I will be back."

"I'll be here both days," George added. "We want to see how you all feel with taking charge of the business, though we do want to be around in case you need us. We think you'll do well, though."

"This is a test, really," Ron further explained. "Like we've told you before, if this works out, we'll look into hiring a few more people so that we can have a nice shift schedule going, with all of us having days off."

"Sounds good?" George asked, and again everyone nodded their approval.

"If anything comes up, just come to my office during the day tomorrow," Ron said, lifting himself from the counter to indicate the meeting was finished.

Everyone scattered around, saying bye as they left the shop. Hermione remained behind, waiting to talk to Ron, and he smiled at her as she stepped close to him.

"What are you planning to do for dinner?" she asked.

"Nothing, really. Probably just make something quick, or go buy something. You want to eat together?"

"Yes. Why don't you make us something? I need to go pick up a little thing from home and call my parents. Then I can come back for dinner."

"Sounds good," he commented, kissing her quickly before she Disapparated away.

Considering Hermione would take a bit of time to return, Ron decided to actually spend a bit more of time cooking, and tried his hand at a bit more complex dish. He was done with the prep work and had set everything to cook, setting the pots on the wizard stove and intonating the cooking charm.

" _Coceri Finabilis_ ," he said as he did the proper wand movement, when he heard George coming behind him. "Hey."

"Hey, Ron."

"Will you have dinner with us?" Ron offered.

"No, I'll go to Mum and Dad's. Just wanted to let you know."

"Sure, see you later then. Say hi from me."

"No problem," he said, walking back to the sitting room and reaching for Floo Powder, before he disappeared through the green flames.

As Ron continued cooking, his mind wandered back to George. Even though he had made a point of asking how he was doing the day before, Ron felt like he wasn't really doing much to help George anymore. True, he had said he was better now, but Ron felt he still should be able to do more. But what?

He was still trying to figure out what he could do when he heard Hermione Apparate in the flat. He checked that everything was cooking properly before he turned to see her as she came into the kitchen, all smiles and a package in her hand.

"Hey, what's that?" Ron asked, looking at the gift-wrapped box she placed on his hands.

"Just a little something. Open it," she said, both eager and nervous.

Curious and excited, he pulled at the ribbon she had tied around it, to then open the box. He found tissue paper obscuring the gift, which suddenly seemed like just a barrier to get to his gift.

"Why did you add paper to this, Hermione? Or is the paper my gift?" he complained as he started unwrapping his gift from the colored tissue.

He quickly glanced at her to see her rolling her eyes at him, when he went back to his present to finally unwrap two photo frames.

The first one was of Harry, Ginny, Hermione and himself, all hugging together during the first full day of working at the shop. He remembered the moment, and looked curiously at how it was displayed on the moving picture; the laughter in all of their faces, and the quick yet lingering look that he shared with Hermione. He smiled to himself, noticing how the picture showed him pulling her to him, and her smile in response. Still smiling, he shifted his look to the second frame, this one holding a photo of the two of them alone.

His lungs took a break from their work in his shock. He remembered the moment recorded in the photo, but he hadn't known a photo had actually been taken of it. It had happened right after Harry and Ginny had come into the store with the camera, when he had been trying to get her to stand closer to him.

It was strange looking at the two of them in the photo. Their faces showed such open adoration, totally unaware that they were being observed by the camera lens. The way she smiled, the way he looked at her; her hand barely hesitating before resting on his hand on her waist, and how her eyes glinted after he told her something, to finish with her hand making its way around his back. It was so obvious they were nervous in their closeness, that they hesitated as much as they longed for each other. It was all over their eyes, in every single gesture! He suddenly understood what everyone had always seen in them; why so many people had said they had obviously fancied each other for so long. If this was what everyone saw, then no doubt everyone had known what was between them. How could they have been so blind?

"I know you're not sentimental and that photos probably don't mean so much to you," Hermione began, evidently nervous about his reaction and needing to explain her reasoning to him, if only to fill the time. "But I noticed how your room looks so austere right now; so different from your room at the Burrow, you know? So I thought I could give you something to make it feel warmer, more comfortable... and, you know, it took me a while to think of it, and I didn't know if you'd like it, but-"

Ron left the frames on the counter next to him, and interrupted her by wrapping her in his arms. "Thanks, Hermione," he whispered into her hair.

She responded by wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest. She sighed. "I'm glad you liked it."

"Love it. I had forgotten about those pictures."

"Me too. But when I was thinking about what I could give you I remembered, and asked Ginny for copies. They had had them developed, but hadn't really checked them out. She helped me pick these two."

"These two are brilliant," Ron asserted. She lifted her head from his chest to look at him as he talked. "The one of the two of us..." he tried to comment, but didn't really find the words.

She nodded her understanding. "I know. It seems... so obvious, now, in retrospective, doesn't it?"

"It does."

"Ginny said it was a good example of what they could all see, and though a bit disgusting to her-I'm quoting-it shows how we feel."

Ron scoffed. "Well, I like it. I'll put them in my bedroom after dinner. Thanks... it's... it's really nice, Hermione."

She smiled and squinted at him. "You don't know what date it is, right? We've been together for a month today."

Ron quickly considered this piece of information. "Oh, shit, didn't think of it," he exclaimed, dumbfounded. "I didn't know we were... counting, or celebrating, either, to be honest."

"Oh, don't worry," Hermione said, dismissive. "I didn't mean to give you the gift because of the date, it just worked out that way. But since I was giving it, I thought maybe you'd think of it."

Ron scrunched his face as he let go of her to check on the food. "I didn't... it honestly feels like we've been together for much longer than that."

"It does, doesn't it?"

* * *

 

Later, having finished dinner and after cleaning up, Hermione went with Ron to his room to find a place for the photo frames. He finally decided to put them on his dresser, but asked her to place them on it.

"I don't really know how these should go here," he shrugged. "You'll probably know better."

With a smile, she put them on the furthest corner from the door, not quite facing the bed. "There," she said. She turned to Ron, who was looking at the pictures still.

"Blimey," he said. "I keep looking at us on that photo and... can you believe it?"

"What do you mean? That it took us so long to get together, or that we could still doubt we both wanted to after looking at each other like that?"

He scoffed. "I reckon both."

"You've said it before. What matters is that we're together now, and that we're not letting go."

He shook his head as if trying to clear it, and then gave her a sweet smile. "That's right." He reached for her with a hand on her waist, very much like he had in the photo, and brought her closer to him. Unlike what had happened all those weeks ago, this time he kissed her. "Will you stay tonight?" he asked, looking into her eyes.

"I don't think so," she sighed. "I woke up here yesterday and I should at least pretend that I'm still living at my parents'."

"So you woke up here yesterday, and didn't this morning. Should wake up here with me tomorrow to keep the pattern going, right?" he suggested with a mischievous smile.

"Nice try. We shouldn't get used to it, as much as we like it. I'll stay here on Friday, since we took Saturday off."

"Fine," he dramatically said, letting her know it was a big effort for him to accept it. "Will you stay a bit longer, though?"

"Gladly," she replied, taking his hand and taking him to the sofa.

She sat down and Ron sat a bit away from her. She wondered about it until he dropped his head to her lap, shifting a bit on the sofa until he found a comfortable position, his calves hanging down from the sofa's arm. He closed his eyes, sighing, and she took her hand up to run her fingers through his hair.

"There were a few times I wished I could do this, back in Hogwarts," Ron said, his eyes still closed. "You know, on those long nights we waited for Harry to return from his missions with Dumbledore in sixth year, when everyone went to sleep and we were left alone."

"What about when we were on the run?"

"Yeah, there, too. But the couch in the tent wasn't very comfortable, was it?"

"I don't think I would have complained if you'd done it, though," Hermione said. "Your hair is getting long again."

"You want me to cut it?"

"It's up to you. I'm not going to tell you how to do your hair, Ron."

He smiled. "I wouldn't mind. Do you know the spell? Would you cut my hair?"

"Of course I know the spell," Hermione said. "But are you sure you want me to? I mean, I'm sure your mum is a safer option, considering her experience."

"Doesn't matter. You want to do it?"

"If you're sure..."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's do it tomorrow before we go out. I have better ideas for now," he said, turning his head to kiss her lower belly over her shirt.

"Would you have done that in the common room, too?"

"Would it have mattered?" he joked, his eyes still closed. "With those robes covering you I'm sure you wouldn't even have felt it."

She laughed. "Possibly, but... I've been meaning to ask you..."

"Oh-oh. I know that voice," he said, opening his eyes to look at her.

She smirked. "Oh, yeah? So what does it mean?" she asked, miffed.

"That there's something serious you want to discuss but you're afraid of our-my-reaction."

She pursed her lips, annoyed. "Fine, yes, you're correct," she conceded. "I want to talk about our possible trip to Australia."

"Oh," Ron said. "What's the problem with that?"

"I don't want to offend you again-I'm trying not to, but I want you to know that if I do, I didn't mean to."

Ron scoffed. "All right, then, shoot. I'll try my hardest not to be offended."

Hermione squinted her eyes at him, wondering if she should complain about his attitude, but decided against it. She wanted him in a good mood, and she truly was trying to be careful with what she said.

"I was thinking," she began, "that we should decide what exactly we are doing. Whether I go alone or the both of us go, it would be happening in three weeks or so. We should start thinking of buying aeroplane tickets and setting up Portkeys and, you know... making a reservation in France somewhere..."

As Ron mulled her words, he got up and turned around to sit on the coffee table in front of her. "I said I'd go, Hermione. That is, if George can handle it."

"Do you think he will?"

"I don't know. He says there's still some... things... to be concerned about..."

She couldn't help the question that appeared in her mind and, without considering much further despite her intentions, she asked, "Ron, do you really want to go?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed, offended after all. "I'm afraid of meeting your parents as your boyfriend, yeah, but I'll get over it. And a few days alone with you... well, it makes it all worth it, doesn't it? I'm not using George as an excuse, if that's what you're trying to say."

"No, no, I'm sorry," she said. "I truly wondered. I wouldn't want you to go if you really didn't want to!"

"I want to go, of course. I just can't... I'm not letting myself get too excited about it, in case it doesn't work out."

Knowing he did want to go excited her. "Oh, but then we just have to plan for it! We can see how to organize things here at the shop, and I can- I can look into trips and itineraries!"

"And... do you think that you should perhaps tell your parents I'm going? See what they say, too? What if they change their mind and don't want me to go?"

"Oh, but I'm sure they're expecting it by now!"

"Hermione, just tell them and confirm it, all right? It'll make me feel loads better about the plan."

She bit her lip as she considered his question, knowing he was right with this. "All right. I told them I won't be calling them tomorrow, but I'll tell them on Saturday."

"Good. And I'll talk to George, and see what he says."

"Yes!" she exclaimed, happy and eager. "Oh, now I can't wait. It'll be great! Things are looking up for us for a while, aren't they?"

Ron reluctantly smiled. "Yes. Three weeks, you said?"

"Or so. After the ceremony, in any case. Oh, Ron," she said as she leaned forward and surrounded Ron with her arms. "This is going to be great. Things will be great from now on."

"Until September, anyway."

"Yes, September," she said, loudly kissing his cheek and refusing to think of September first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again my lovely readers! I'm sorry I haven't been around—I've been SO busy! Which also means I still haven't written a single new word and, yes, that also means I am PAN ICK ING
> 
> Hope your enjoy this chapter though, and wish me 27-hour long days!


	30. Bodily Presence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Flashback, panic attack  
> Also contains graphic descriptions of two consenting adults doing very intimate things, jsyk.

The pub the group had chosen was not too far away from Diagon Alley. Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny had decided to go there together, and now entered the building in search for the other two friends. As it appeared they hadn't gotten there yet, they got a booth in a corner and sat down to wait. But it wasn't long until Luna and Neville appeared through the door, spotting the four others quickly.

"Hey!" Neville said, sitting with them on the booth. "I'm glad we could all make it!"

"I wouldn't want to miss this, I'm so happy to see you all" Luna greeted them, her voice soft and dreamy as always as she sat with everybody. "Should we get something to drink?"

It was easy to talk to each other, and the conversation flowed easily as they got their drinks.

"So how's training," Neville was asking Harry. "It seems that Ron and I are going to be going through it together, did you know?"

"No, I didn't!" Harry exclaimed. "That's going to be good. Well, training is tough," he continued. "It's quite physically demanding, and trying to learn all those spells is just— I often wish I had Hermione with me again, to make it a bit easier," he joked, and everyone laughed except for the target of his comment.

"No, you _have_ to really apply yourself," Hermione said. "It really is silly to hope anyone can help you; you _have_ to learn everything they're teaching you because they're teaching it for a reason. You _obviously_ need to learn every spell and charm that they think is useful to fight Dark Wizards!"

"But what's the use of teaching a hundred spells a day? Who can retain that, or learn that from one day to the next? Aside from you, of course, Hermione," Harry countered.

"A _hundred_?" Ron queried, shocked. "That's impossible!"

"I'm telling you, this fast-track training is more of a condensed version of Auror Academy than a training of the essentials—" Harry began, but Hermione interrupted him.

"Or," she said, "it's really all very necessary!"

"But if we can't learn them all, then what's the point?" Harry argued. "At least they help you remember during battle exercises. They—wait, I think I'm not supposed to tell you that," Harry stopped himself, slightly flustered.

"Hey!"

"Tell us!" Ron and Neville complained.

"Can't," Harry said, smiling now and shrugging.

"Sounds grueling," Neville added after uttering a groan of resignation. "Almost makes me want to reconsider."

"Nah, it doesn't," Ron countered as if it was impossible to consider such a thing. "I'm sure you want to do this as much as I do. Even if it means we'll be shit at it and remember five out of the hundred spells, when in the middle of battle training."

Hermione looked at Ron, nervous. She knew he had been joking, but couldn't stop the unsettling feeling gripping her stomach with this conversation; it forced her mind to think of all the risks involved in being an Auror. It frightened her.

"Soon we're going to be sent out to the streets and on low-level missions," Harry was saying, unknowingly causing a tightening of the grip on Hermione's guts. She looked up at her friend and then at Ron again, pursing her lips to stop herself from begging him to in fact reconsider his decision of joining the Aurors. She took a sip of her drink, hoping the alcohol would help her feel better.

"I didn't know that!" Ginny exclaimed. Hermione looked down to her lap, worried over the three boys in the group.

Harry looked at his girlfriend, bumping her shoulder with his. "Yeah, we just heard today. They said it won't be too much, not until we've passed the final tests, but that they want us to start getting some real-life, real-case experience."

Again Hermione looked at Ron and, unable to stop herself, leaned up to talk to Ron's ear. "Please, please study all the spells; please pay attention in class, Ron, all right?"

He looked at her with a slight scoff, barely moving his head from side to side in disapproval. "Of course I will, this time I'll actually be trying, right?"

"I just want you as safe as possible," she hissed, hoping no one else was listening.

He looked back at her for a moment, suddenly serious. But then he simply gave her a small nod of understanding, and wrapped her shoulders with an arm as he briefly kissed her temple.

"Oh, it's adorable to see you two found your way to each other!" Luna exclaimed from the other side of the table, indicating to Hermione that they had been observed, after all. She turned to the blonde girl, shyly smiling and still a bit proud.

"How was your trip, Luna?" Ron asked her, keeping his arm around Hermione.

"It was lovely," Luna replied. "It was great to spend time with my dad, reconnecting after all that time I spent at Malfoy's cellar and then at Bill's house. It was difficult, too, of course," she continued in that thoughtful and open voice of hers, "to see him so thin and looking hauntedly at me at times, but I'm sure it'll be better soon."

Hermione felt a chill go down her spine at the casual mention of Malfoy Manor, but tried hard to ignore it.

"And you, Neville?" Hermione asked, trying to direct the conversation elsewhere.

"Wait, Bill's house?" Neville asked, using a hand to casually point to Ginny and Ron. "Bill Weasley?"

"Yes," Luna continued. "That's where we escaped to, after everything. We stayed there until we got your message to go to Hogwarts."

"I never knew that," Neville commented, talking to Luna and missing the look that Ron, Harry, and Hermione shared. They were all uneasy.

"Yes. They graciously took us in their home; it was so beautiful, so peaceful... The perfect place for all of us to recover from what the Malfoys did—well, the Malfoys and Bellatrix, of course. They were all so horrendous to us."

A subtle buzzing of the air, a sudden density around her made Hermione close her eyes. _Don't_ , she begged in her mind.

"Who wants another drink?" Ron tried to redirect the conversation, trying to stand up to get new glasses. Hermione put a hand on his leg, grabbing him and pushing down on him.

"Please stay," she whispered, and Ron seemed to immediately understand. He sat down again, wrapping her in his arm once more.

"No, I'm fine," Neville replied to Ron's question, distracted, before he continued with what was on his mind. "Damn those people. Did Bellatrix do something to you, Luna? I'm really sorry, I didn't know." he continued, his voice low and upset.

"Not much. Or it feels like not much, after what she did to Hermione," Luna said, tilting her head as she considered her answer, her voice innocent and airy as always.

Hermione felt Ginny and Neville's eyes boring down on her, and she evaded them both by looking at her lap again, her breath quickly becoming short and fast. She pressed her lips together, hating the memories that were threatening to take over her mind. Ron squeezed her against him.

"Bellatrix, Hermione?" Ginny said, her strangled voice reaching her clearly over the loud noises of the pub.

"What did that monster do to you?" Neville asked, his voice vibrating deep with his contained anger. The shock of it made Hermione look up to him.

Their eyes locked. She did not have to guess to know Neville was thinking of his own parents; she saw the memory of them and what they had been through clearly on his face. He knew what Bellatrix had been capable of better than most, for he had lived with the consequences of it all of his life.

She could feel his imagination running wild with dark possibilities. Even though a part of her wanted to stop him from imagining, she couldn't bring herself to talk about it; holding his eyes was enough to force her to remember. Unable to control it, images of that house and of that evil woman pointing her wand at her slowly trickled into her mind. She could feel the ice quickly freezing her blood. She began to shake.

"All right, enough," Ron said, a bit too aggressively. "Leave Hermione alone. The witch is dead."

Neville broke the connection and Hermione was free to look away. Trying to distract herself, she tried to lift her hand to reach for her glass, but she quickly noticed that her hand was trembling horribly and she brought it down to her lap again, trying to hide it.

"I'm sorry I brought it up, Hermione," Luna said. "I didn't realise it was still affecting you, though of course it would. Something like that wouldn't leave anyone sleep calmly at night. I know it was bad; I'm sorry."

"Luna, stop," Ron commanded.

"I'm going to the loo," Hermione said, standing up in a quick motion. Ron, Harry, and Ginny quickly moved out of the booth to give her room to stand up. Before she could go, though, Ron took her hand and leaned in to talk to her ear.

"Are you okay? Do you want me to go with you?"

She knew he was worried; she knew she would be thankful at any other time, but she really needed some room right now. If she was going to try to control her mind and her body then she needed solitude. She nodded her head no, and left before the noises of the pub and the concern in everyone's eye robbed her of her thinning sanity.

* * *

 

His height helping him to see her turn the corner under the bright red sign that read _Toilets_ under a curved arrow, Ron begrudgingly sat down on the booth again after seeing her disappear through the crowd. He sat right on the edge of it this time, as if he were getting ready to sprint out of it with a moment's notice. After a couple of minutes, he felt Ginny's hand on his arm as she leaned on to him.

"Is Hermione going to be all right?" she asked, evidently worried.

"I don't know," Ron honestly replied. "I hope so."

He could still feel her shaking next to him, and he closed his eyes to try to tell himself she wouldn't have gone away, if she had been dangerously affected.

_Use your senses. What can you touch? What can you smell?_

He couldn't help but catalogue the techniques that Laura had taught them, just in case.

"I am truly sorry, Ron," Luna insisted, obviously meaning it.

He didn't reply, but nodded his head to let her know he had heard.

"I'm so happy she's dead. Bellatrix, I mean," Neville was saying, looking into his drink. "I know it's a horrible thing to say, but I just don't care. To think of what she must have done to Hermione…"

"Get it out of your system now, mate," Ron began, his voice low in warning. "I fully share the sentiment, but no more mentions of her or of Malfoy Manor in front of Hermione, all right?"

He tried to look over to the other corner of the pub, where Hermione had disappeared through in search for the toilets. The place was completely full, now, and he didn't have a clear view of it. It made him restless.

"I didn't know it had been Bellatrix, the one to cause Hermione's... you know, to do whatever she did to Hermione," Ginny commented, concern clear in her voice. "That makes it so much worse, now."

"Is there anything we can do?" Luna asked.

"Yes, shut up about it," Harry said, and Ron was glad he was on his side of things. He checked his watch, calculating that she had been away for about five minutes, although he couldn't be sure. Five minutes were plenty of time for things to go wrong, though.

"That's it, I'm going to check on her," he announced, leaving their booth behind. Nobody tried to stop him.

He walked quickly to the hallway where the bathroom was, noticing that there were three women waiting in line to use the loo.

"Did you see a bushy-haired girl come out of it, by any chance?"

The girl in front of the line, frowning impatiently, nodded her head no. "But whoever is in there is taking bloody forever."

He dubiously looked at the door, stepping right next to it. "Hermione?" he called, loudly enough to be heard through the ruckus of the bar, knocking on the door. "Is that you in there? It's me, Ron!"

Nothing came back through the door.

Ron chew his lip, considering his options. He looked back at the women waiting for the toilet, knowing he couldn't simply use his wand to open the door.

"Hermione!" he called again, knocking even harder this time, wiggling the door handle with his free hand, trying to open it forcefully.

"Hey, don't break it!" one of the girls said at his back, but he ignored her.

"Is she okay?" another one said.

Hermione had either used _Colloportus_ and a silencing spell on it, or she was unable to answer, for some reason. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

"I'll call the manager," one of the girls on the line said, stepping away from there.

"Hermione!" Ron tried again, although he wasn't expecting it to work. He just needed to do something, but didn't know what to do and was at a loss. If he had only been in that toilet before he would not have hesitated to simply go to a secluded space and Apparate into it, but he hadn't, and didn't know how to visualize the space he'd appear in.

"Ron?" Ginny said, coming to stand next to him. "What's going on?"

"She's not coming out. That is, if she's in there."

"That doesn't sound good. Should I bring Harry? I told him to stay and keep Neville and Luna company."

"It's not like he can, you know... do anything here," he said, using his head to indicate the space around them, hoping it would remind her they were in a Muggle place. "Someone went looking for the manager; I hope they have a key to the toilet to use."

Muggle place or not, the girl who had gone for help returned with the manager, key in hand, as if by magic.

The man used the key on the door with a deft movement, but even if the handle turned, the door didn't budge.

"I don't understand," he said, trying the door again, but to no effect.

"That's it," one of the girls said. "I'm using the men's loo."

"Does the toilet have a window?" Ron asked, getting more anxious by the minute.

"Yes, but it's small and it's locked," the manager replied.

"Oh, uhm—bummer. Please keep trying here; I'm going to... to... step outside and call—for help," Ron lied, and took Ginny by the arm to have her follow him.

"What do you want to do?" she asked as they walked away from the hallway.

"Tell Harry what's going on. One of you come find me behind the pub, the other can stay with Neville and Luna."

"Okay," Ginny said, disappearing among the people in the direction of their booth.

Ron quickly walked out the main door, looking to both sides to see where the alley was. Having seen it, he purposely walked to it, surrounding the pub in search for the toilet window. When he found it, he saw it was indeed too small for anyone to go through it. But if he just used a bit of magic...

He looked around, trying to make sure there were no Muggles in sight. The alley wasn't very secluded, and he could clearly see people walking on the sidewalk in front of the building. It was then that he saw Harry quickly come to him.

"What are you thinking?" Harry questioned, reaching him.

"I'm going to enlarge the window and break it. I can fix it after. Can you make sure no Muggles see me?"

"Sure."

Ron saw Harry subtly reaching for his wand and performing a few spells; Ron did the same as he pointed to the window to enlarge its frame. He stopped only when he was sure he would be able to fit through it and, looking around once more, finally intonated, " _Reducto!_ "

The window glass exploded in tens of pieces that trickled down the wall. A piercing scream came from the bathroom within seconds.

"Shit!" Ron exclaimed, quickly jumping and climbing through the hole in the wall.

"No! No! Please!" Hermione was screaming now, her voice shrill yet muffled as she had hidden her face against her knees, her arms around her head as if to protect it from an attack.

"Bloody—fucking—" Ron mumbled, full of worry over Hermione, his skin crawling as he used the back of the toilet to step down to the floor.

"Should I go in?" Harry asked from outside.

"Give me a minute!" Ron called back, kneeling in front of Hermione and surrounding her with his arms.

"Hermione, are you okay?"

She was shaking and crying, still chanting _no, no,_ over and over again.

"It's me, it's Ron," he pleaded, "Can you hear me?"

She made no sign that she did.

"Hermione, love, I'm freaking out here," Ron begged once more. "C'mon, hear my voice. Can you hear it? Remember, use your senses. I'm talking to you, can you hear?" he squeezed her to him when she didn't respond. "I'm hugging you. Can you feel me? I'm touching you; can you touch me back?"

She was still shaking, but she wasn't screaming anymore. He could feel her fast breathing as her ribs fought against his arms; he loosened the grip a bit.

"The... chandelier...?" she finally mumbled, the strained words a balm to his mind, even if he didn't understand them.

"Love, listen, I'm talking to you. Can you hear? We're sitting on the floor, it's hard and cool; this place actually smells, it's bad, isn't it? Can you smell it?" Ron began listing everything he could notice, trying to silence his worry as he brought back Laura's instructions, hoping it would work.

"What about taste? Can you taste anything? You were drinking something, can you still feel it on your tongue?"

"What's going on in there? You sound like you went mad," Harry asked, his voice confused, his face concerned when Ron looked up at him. He was looking down from the enlarged window.

"You do," Hermione agreed with Harry from between her knees, and broke down crying.

A thousand retorts came to Ron's lips, but he bit them all back.

"Hermione, I'm going to Apparate us to your house, all right?"

She nodded her understanding, not lifting her head from her knees.

"Harry," Ron called. "Repair the glass and resize the whole thing. When ready, open the door from where you are before sealing the window shut again. That way the manager can come in, if they're still there. Then go to the others; tell them we're sorry but we had to leave."

"No problem. Let me know that everything is fine, will you?"

"Thanks, Harry," Ron said, before gripping his wand in his hand and holding Hermione close, visualizing her bedroom with all his might.

* * *

 

She felt Ron lay her on her bed, very much in the same way he had when he had first taken her to Shell Cottage after Malfoy Manor. In her still-hazy mind, it was yet another echo of what had happened that eventful day.

This time, though, there was no Bill coming to pull Ron out of the room and demand explanations and, although her heart was still aching, her body wasn't locked and taut in pain as it had been back then. This time, Ron lay down next to her, softly wrapping an arm across her midsection. He sighed, his forehead touching the side of her face as he cuddled against her. She could feel the tears that were still coming from her eyes silently falling down the sides of her face.

"Can you hear me?" he asked.

She nodded her confirmation, opening her eyes to look at the ceiling of her bedroom.

"All right. Good. Is there... what can you touch?" he started, again trying to make her focus on her senses.

"It's fine," she croaked through the tightness in her throat. "I'm better—I'm almost well, now."

"You blocked the door and silenced the sound from coming in and out, didn't you?" he asked. Even though he had evidently tried to remain calm, she knew him too well: she clearly heard the strain in it; his temper was beginning to flare.

She closed her eyes and furrowed her eyebrows in regret. She confirmed it with a whispered, "Yes."

"What were you thinking, Hermione?" he demanded, his voice letting more of his anger escape.

"I wanted... I thought that if I had some—some time for myself, in private, I—I would be able to calm myself. The silence—it became deafening, quite quickly and... and my thoughts took over, then," she explained, her voice small in her shame. Then, without warning, she began crying again. "I thought I was better!" she whimpered as sobs took over her once more.

"Shhh, shhh, I'm sorry," Ron said, his voice comforting again. "I was so worried, Hermione," he continued as if in spite of himself. "You wouldn't answer my calls through the door; I thought something— I thought you—Merlin, Hermione, I was so worried!"

"I should never have isolated myself like that," Hermione agreed. "I wasn't thinking clearly; I thought I could handle it but totally failed, Ron! And then something happened and I felt—it was like being back then again, but this time I was aware that the chandelier was falling on me and I believed it was going to kill me—"

She could feel the shivers start again as she thought of that moment in the pub's toilet, the fear and shock of it. She felt her mind ebb between that memory and what had followed, and was terrified to think she was going back to that torturous space in her mind, there where she believed she was still being hurt and killed slowly.

"No, Hermione, don't go there," Ron said to her ear, clearly understanding what was happening. She felt his hand coming to cup her face, turning it to face him. "Look at me, I'm here. Feel my hand on your face. Feel my thumb rubbing your skin—-shit, is this working at all?"

"Yes, yes, talk to me, do what you're doing," she pleaded, her hand lifting to hold his arm in place, her fingers wrapping around his wrist. The warmth of his skin made her realise how cold her hands were.

"All right, then, now listen to my voice," Ron continued. "Listen to the words I'm saying."

"I could hear you screaming from the cellar, even through the pain of the curse," Hermione said, unable to direct her thoughts, unable to stop herself from sharing them with Ron.

"Bloody hell," he exclaimed, his voice breaking, "I couldn't—no, hey, listen to me," he interrupted himself, steeling his voice. "You are fine, now. We are in your bedroom. The war is over," he said. "It's _over_ , all right? And you are okay, and you are here with me. Listen to me. Feel my hand on your face. Can you feel it?"

She nodded yes.

"Okay, then. Now... now... smell! What can you smell?"

She tried to focus, but had a hard time sensing anything. "I don't... I can't..."

"Let me find something," he said as he tried to get up, but Hermione grabbed him harder to keep him close.

"No, you, let me smell you."

She could feel his bafflement as much as she heard it in his voice. "Wha— all— all right, uhm..."

"Your hair," she suggested, past any possibility for embarrassment, needing to grasp at any chance of finding her ground again.

"O—okay," he conceded, and she felt his hair tickling her nose as he positioned his head close to her face. She inhaled deeply, filling her nostrils with the familiar smell.

The fog in her head cleared a bit, as images of the library at Hogwarts and of his room at the Burrow started to appear in her mind. After a few moments, she felt like she could finally open her eyes again, her eyelids fluttering open.

"Better?" he asked, turning his head to look at her. She nodded yes again, now able to see his self-consciousness and confusion at her request. She could see _him_ , the young man whose presence was bringing her back to her own.

"I'm looking at you," she whispered, extremely aware of him; aware of his eyes as he looked at her. She put her attention on the blue of his irises, the miraculous shade of it fixed on her face, noticing how there were little specks of silver threaded through parts of it, the dark and wide pupil at the center. His eyelashes were white at the root and gold at the tips as he blinked, opening his eyes to stare at her again. She raised her hand to his face, her thumb softly caressing a patch of freckles on his cheekbones. "I'm touching you."

"Good. Keep... keep doing that," he said, his voice trembling, his eyes searching her face still.

"What's left... which sense?" she asked, her heart beating strongly but in a constant, spaced rhythm. She could feel herself relax as she put her attention on Ron.

"Uhm—taste," he replied, and she heard him gulp.

"All right," she said, knowing exactly what she wanted to do. She brought her hand to the back of his head, pulling him down to her for a kiss. It was gentle, his lips soft against hers.

Letting her heart beat at a different pace, her blood beginning to run for new reasons, was making Hermione forget the darkness she had been surrounded by. Yearning for the change, for the alternative her body was evidently reaching for, she opened her lips to taste his, slowly running her tongue over them.

"Fuck," Ron said in response to her eagerness, and she knew he was feeling the same way by the tremor in his voice.

"Kiss me, please," she implored, afraid that if she broke that connection she would lose the lifeline that his closeness was offering to her. She couldn't afford that; the risk of one of them holding any doubts at a moment like this being enough for her to be insistent.

He understood. He groaned as he assaulted her mouth, suddenly rough. His tongue quickly responded to hers, and he moved on the bed so that he was half over her now to better the angle of their kissing. She wrapped her arms around his neck, needing him to stay close to her.

The snog continued, their breathing now equally fast, her heart matching their rhythm. She tried to turn to her side to bring her body closer to his, bringing her leg over his hip to hook him flush to her.

"Wait," he moaned as he broke the kiss.

"No, Ron, I need this," she tried to explain, her voice coarse. When he tried to pull back, she followed him until he was on his back and she could straddle him, coming down for another kiss, her hands fisting the fabric of the collar of his shirt.

"Hermione, listen," he tried again, but she interrupted him again with more snogging.

His hands grabbed her waist and she thought he had given up the fight, when she felt his hands lower to her hip bones, trying to push her up from him. She barely had the presence of mind to realise she had decided to fight him back, bringing her hips down to him. Through the haze in her mind, through the rush in her veins, she could feel him hard against her. He groaned as she fought against his hands, writhing against him as a result.

"Yes," she exclaimed, flattening her hands against his chest for balance.

"Shit, I can't— Hermione, please stop," he begged. "This is wrong, we shouldn't..."

She stilled on him, slightly hurt even if she didn't understand it, and looked down on him. "Don't you want me?"

"Of course I do! Bloody hell, Hermione, you're rubbing yourself against the proof of it!"

"Then why is this wrong? I thought— we talked—"

He lifted his hands to her face. "Because you're not thinking clearly, Hermione," he explained in a soft, strained voice.

Dejected, she let her head hang low, her chin pressed against her chest.

"Maybe..." Ron tried again, dropping his hands to her waist once more. "Maybe we should—keep talking?" he suggested.

She shook her head from side to side. "I don't want to talk," she confessed. "Not yet. I don't want to think. I want to forget about what happened, don't you see? This helps," she insisted, grasping the fabric of his shirt in one of her hands again for emphasis. "When my body responds to yours; when my mind is full of you, I can't think of anything. That's what I want, right now, see?" she pulled at the clothes in her hand, to then hit his chest with her clenched hand.

"Hey, hey," Ron said, lifting himself to sit, reaching up to her face again to give her a peck on the lips. "Fine, all right. Just... let me..."

She didn't know what he had meant before kissing her again. With little hesitation, Hermione responded to his lips in the hopes of feeling the rush in her veins again. When he wrapped an arm around her and flipped her back to the bed, she did. What an amazing feeling to be held like that, the dizzying effect of the fast movement scaring her as much as it made her feel safe, his strength clear in his gesture… like watching fireworks and being overwhelmed by the colors and the noise, and enjoying every moment of it in the knowledge you were okay.

She sunk into the mattress, her body melting in the wonderful sensations. They had kept kissing, but he soon broke apart to nibble at her jaw and then at her neck. Her open legs wrapped around his back, until his moving down on her chest made them drop to the back of his thighs.

"Sweet... Merlin," he mumbled, taking a deep, shuddering breath as he grinded against her, once, stilling himself immediately after. Her hands traveled down his back, pulling at his shirt to indicate he take it off. "Okay, yeah," he conceded, lifting himself to his knees to get rid of his shirt. She did the same and, squirming, nervous but focused, reached for the clasp of her bra to throw it away as well. "Fuck," Ron exclaimed, again crumbling down into cursing.

She reached to his shoulders to bring him down against her, surrounding him with her legs again and shifting her weight to turn and push him back against the mattress. She straddled him and found his hands with hers, bringing them to fondle her chest as she went down to snog him. As the kiss heated up, as their breathing quickened and moans escaped their throats, she began mindlessly moving her hips against him in no distinguishable pattern.

Her mind was completely blank and bright now, all her senses full of Ron. She wasn't aware of anything but him and the way their bodies interacted, of his tongue against hers and his hands on her breasts; of the pull in her lower belly and the want that drove her crazy. The wonderful tension of it was welcome like a balm to her soul, and for once she wasn't afraid of losing control with him—if only because it meant she couldn't lose control in aching ways when all she could do was reach for more of him.

She squirmed back to kiss his jaw and close her lips around a sharp clavicle. She kept going down, nuzzling on his chest and inhaling the scent of his skin, down the groove in the center of his belly.

"Holy—" he mumbled, his hands grabbing her head briefly to then disappear again to his sides. She went lower still, lifting a hand to touch the red hairs that appeared somewhere down his navel and grew slightly coarser as they disappeared behind his jeans. She brought her other hand to unbutton his trousers and unzip it. "Please, Hermione," Ron begged, but she didn't know if he meant for her to stop or to continue.

She lifted her leg around him and lay back again on the bed, reaching for the button of her shorts and unzipping it fast, pulling them quickly down her legs and throwing them away to the side of the bed.

Ron turned on his side to nibble on her neck, and Hermione realised his trousers were still on. "Ron, your jeans," she breathed out mindlessly.

"I'm keeping them on," Ron said against her neck. "I'm not sure— I don't want to—" he mumbled as he lifted his head to look at her.

"I want you to," Hermione insisted, but he pursed his lips and shook his head no.

"I can't."

"Ron..." she tried to insist, but his hand flattened against her belly, his fingers reaching to the hem of her knickers. His head then followed his hand; he kissed her bellybutton.

"I don't have a clue how to do this for you," he admitted as the tip of one of his fingers traveled across the skin at the edge of her underwear.

"No— it's not—" she tried, but she had been too successful at wiping her mind clear.

"You did it for me once and... let me do it for you. You'll just have to—to teach me."

She was nervous. A big part of her wanted to say no and to call it a night. But the part of her that had been begging for bodily release to free her mind won, if only by whispering its promise.

She gave him her permission with the tiniest nod. He gulped. He pushed his fingers under her underwear. She vaguely thought that Godric Gryffindor was probably not thinking of this kind of bravery when he created the school house.

His breathing became slightly raspy as he cupped her pubic bone, the tips of his fingers curling down in between her knickers and her labia. She tried to quiet her running heart, pressing her lips together and breathing through her nose, desperately wanting him to continue and yet too scared to say anything or to move at all. His fingers started pressing against her, and one of them slid in between the soft folds as if by accident. She jumped in reaction, the pleasure of it sudden and intense, a moan escaping through her lips.

"Wow, I—" he tried, but stopped himself. He looked up at her, checking that she was still okay, and then looked down at his hand again. He moved a second finger to accompany the first. She whimpered. "Tell me what to do," he said again.

She reached down with one hand and placed it on top of his, pushing his a bit lower in the process. Then she used her fingers to move his to the right spot, and took her hand away. "Just... move the tips..." she breathed out.

He slowly began to follow her instruction, the slippery friction quickly breaking down her remaining defenses. Her body bucked, making him lose his place.

"Go back, a bit higher," she demanded.

"Shit, too hot," he said, dropping his forehead to her belly. "Is this good?"

She groaned and whimpered in answer.

She could feel her arousal quickly climbing higher, the buzzing of her body and the random spams of different muscles taking over her awareness. Ron was breathing harshly, softly mumbling silent curses against the skin of her belly. Even if Ron's fingers kept sliding off the right place, his explorations were new and exciting and all-encompassing. Soon she was on the brink, his eagerness and persistence a delightful tease, but not enough to quiet the screaming need growing in her. She reached down with her hand and directed his fingers again but, after a moment, took over with her own.

Ron realised what was happening and swore, his eyes seeking hers even as his hand laid on hers to feel her movements. Her breathing stopped and her belly constricted in an instant, her legs spasming as she reached her climax.

"Merlin's sweet—" Ron began, but lay back right where he was, desperately reaching for the button of his jeans, pulling them down his hips until he had enough room to reach under his pants with his hand. She heard him coming soon after, as her breathing returned to normal, and right before she turned to her side. She lifted her knees to her chest, and had soon escaped into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! I hope you are happy to realise that I haven't abandoned this story… bc I haven't! and I won't, I promise. I've actually written a bit more, and it's actually been a ONLY a matter of time why I haven't written why I can now visualize clearly in my head. I am working full time, I have to do a course on top of that, AND I have a family which are my priority. I also have to write a story for Romione Secret Santa on Tumblr and, if I have time, a Xmas story that fits within the world of LMF and that was inspired by a dream I had a while ago (seriously). I thought I'd keep you in the loop jic you care............
> 
> Also, bc I can't help myself but be verbose, I want to tell you that I've been rereading all of this story, to get myself inspired to finish. I think it worked???! 
> 
> This chapter is of my favorites. I hope you people like it too! And let me know if you do ;) this is how I get rewarded for all the work I've put into it!


	31. Progress

Hermione woke up disoriented, eyes opening with a flutter. She quickly realised she was mostly naked; the coolness of the sheet soft against her skin. She lifted herself to her elbows, looking around for clues to prompt her mind to remember what had happened. The sheet slid down to her midriff, exposing her breasts in the morning light. That was enough to trigger the memories of the events of the night before... and she instantly felt herself blush.

She sat up straighter, clutching the sheet against her as if needing to cover herself from potential onlookers, even if she knew it was unnecessary: she was alone.

With an exasperated grumble, she got out of the bed and looked for something to put on, finally choosing one of Ron's old shirts—one that was too big on her, knowing it would cover all the important bits. Then she opened the door and went down the stairs in search of her boyfriend. She found him making breakfast.

"Hey," she said, biting her lips in sudden shyness.

"Hermione, you barely had any food in here!" he complained, as if continuing an ongoing conversation. "I had to step out and buy stuff or we would have starved!"

She leaned against the counter next to him, ignoring him and looking up, trying to meet his eyes.

He stopped what he was doing and looked down at her, the frown slowly disappearing as a smile appeared in the corner of his mouth. "Hey," he said, as his smile grew wider.

"I don't remember falling asleep last night," she confessed, slightly embarrassed about it for some reason.

"Yeah," Ron said, going back to magically slicing sausages and whipping some dough. "You were out pretty soon, right after—well—"

Hermione blushed, looking away.

"It was all... quite intense," she admitted. "I think I just needed to sleep it off."

"It was that, yeah" Ron agreed, a slight hesitation in his voice. He cleared his throat. "How are you feeling now?"

She sighed. "You want to talk about it, don't you?"

"I just want— I'd like to understand, Hermione. And then I'll try to make you promise to never do that again, if possible."

"You were the one who wanted to—to touch me!" she complained. Hermione knew she was purposely confusing his meaning, taking the conversation to their explorations instead of what had happened in the pub. It was easier than admitting she had done something so wrong.

"That's not— Hermione— I obviously don't mean that! What we did— that was bloody brilliant, and I definitely want to do it again! Only that next time, I want us both in our right mind and not using it as an escape!"

Ron's words were too accurate, and it hurt. She wrapped her arms around her abdomen and walked to sit at the kitchen table. She heard him let the air out of his lungs in a slow, controlled manner, his hands on the counter, leaning against them and letting his head hang.

"I'm sorry," he said, reaching for his wand and casting a few spells to stop the cooking. He turned and proceeded to sit in front of her at the table, in an almost business-like pose. He was obviously waiting for her to speak up and start the conversation.

She chewed her lips for a moment, her mind fighting with itself over how to start, knowing she had to talk about it, and desperately wanting to not utter a single word on the subject.

She finally gave up, deciding that it was better to get it over with, as she sensed Ron wasn't going to let her beat around the bush.

"I ruined the night," Hermione said through slightly clenched teeth. "I shouldn't have isolated myself, I know that. I swear, I thought I was better! I thought I could control it!" she cried, wanting him to understand, unaware that needing some sort of absolution from him was the true motivator behind her words. Still, she had never been good at accepting her mistakes without a fight.

"Hermione, it's true you hadn't—it hadn't happened in a while, but... I don't know, Laura did say it could happen at any time, didn't she?"

"Yeah, but she also said it could simply stop happening at some point in the future. She said it could go either way!"

"But that was— she just meant it for sometime in the _future_! She also said it could get worse, or it could seem like it was going away to then come back out of nowhere! This shit is fucking unpredictable and we shouldn't take it lightly!"

"You think I'm taking it lightly?" she hissed. "You think I was telling myself that maybe it had stopped because I didn't care? Newsflash, Ron, but it's actually terrifying to know that you can suddenly feel like you're going to die! I was just daring to hope I wouldn't have to go through it again!"

"Don't put words in my mouth," he replied in a warning tone. "It's obvious it's hard to deal with, and yet you insist on rejecting any help and try to do it on your own."

"Well, it's not like I can go to three sessions of therapy and then abandon it to go to Hogwarts! I can't take a year's worth of pills to school! I'm not going to have you around to help me, either! It's pretty clear I have to learn to control it on my own!"

"Might be, but, bloody hell, Hermione, I _was_ there! I was around to help you! If you only let me try to do so, perhaps it'll be easier to learn how to do it by yourself when you're alone!"

Hermione closed her mouth to hold a retort back. She knew she couldn't argue with that logic because he was completely right. She looked at her hands on the table, and then lifted her eyes again to him. He was looking at her with sadness and a hint of desperation, and it was clear to her that offering his help was all he could do to try to make it better for her.

"I know you don't want to go to therapy or to take pills," he added, his voice soft and pleading now. "You know I don't agree but I'm trying to let you choose how to handle this. Please don't stop me from doing the one thing I can do."

Time burnt as she tried to force the fight within her to leave. It was terrifying to think she could go through such an experience again, many times, alone. But even in her despair, she knew Ron was right: she needed to accept his help while he was there to offer it.

She slowly nodded her consent, finally feeling the fight inside her dissolve into a vague sense of fear. Fear of what, now? She could only guess it was fear that she would never learn how to control it, and she'd go through these episodes over and over again in her life.

Shaking her head to dislodge the thought, she decided to put the fear in an imaginary box to ignore it for the moment.

"I'm sorry I ruined our get together last night," Hermione said. "I should maybe... write to explain? or to say I'm sorry?"

Ron shook his head in a casual negative. "You don't need to. After you fell asleep I went out the room and sent a message to Harry to say you were okay. He sent one back; he said they had left the pub right after and said we should try again soon, hopefully keeping to happier themes."

"Well, I'd still like to send a note to Neville and Luna. Somehow I feel like I should let them know personally...?"

"Hermione, you don't have anything to explain to anybody."

"I still want to," she insisted, getting up to find some parchment and a quill to send them a note. She saw Ron sigh in defeat from the corner of her mind. Without thinking, she came back to him and kissed him on the cheek, her hand on his shoulder. "Thanks, Ron. I love you," she added as she took a step back and turned to leave the kitchen.

* * *

Ron stepped out of the perfectly tiled shower in Hermione's house, reaching for one of the fluffiest towels he'd ever used to dry himself with. He sighed in pleasure at the simple comfort of it.

He hadn't told Hermione, but he still was feeling a bit uneasy about the previous night. For one, he had been worried about George. In his message to Harry, he had also asked that he and Ginny check on him, to make sure he was doing well. It was the first night he hadn't stayed at the flat and it made him nervous—even if he was perfectly aware that he had never himself gotten up to check on his brother in the middle of the night. George could have easily spent several nights awake since moving in and Ron wouldn't know. That only heightened his need to do something about it, as if the fact Ron wasn't spending the night at the flat crossed a line. Harry's message had arrived a little while later, letting him know that it seemed that George was doing okay and freeing Ron to return to Hermione's room.

He had covered her with the sheet and then laid next to her, one hand under his pillow and the other lazily scratching his belly. He then spent the next few hours contemplating what had happened that night. He had been confused and unbelieving, worried over the incident at the pub while going over the moment she had buckled under his fingers as she came. How was it possible to go from sheer terror to sheer wonder over just a few minutes?

And now, after having that conversation in the kitchen, he was wondering if he should have said more. Should he have told her that he felt like she had used him, in a way? That the thought alone of her using their physical relationship that way was confusing in how exhilarated it had made him, while also making him feel a tad guilty? Should he have been stronger and stopped them from touching each other to forget what had happened? Should he have told her how bad he felt for making her remember the events at Malfoy Manor, when he broke the glass making her think the chandelier was falling on her again? He could barely understand any of it inside himself; how he could be both thrilled and ashamed for it all?

_Teenage emotions are a rollercoaster_ , the voice of his dad said in his mind as Ron hung the towel to dry, a memory of a long-gone conversation returning out of nowhere.

"Fucking right," Ron muttered under his breath as he began dressing.

Now he had chosen not to tell her any of those things, being afraid to make her feel like he regretted what they had done, or to make her remember how she had felt at the pub and perhaps even triggering another episode, only because he couldn't deal with all those feelings within himself.

Shaking his head in a reproachful gesture toward his ineptitude, he decided to let it go and put it away for the time being.

He cleaned up after himself and went down the stairs in search of his girlfriend. He found her sitting next to the phone, the speaker against her ear.

"Yes, I think you're right," she was saying, her legs bare under his shirt—she hadn't changed yet. He sat down next to her and placed a hand on her thigh and relaxed, resting his head against the back of the sofa. "It's on the 7th... yes, I think I'll have to. The last formal dress I had was the one I wore for Ron's brother's wedding last year and I honestly lost track of it... oh, I don't know, maybe we'll go out shopping today; Harry's birthday is coming up and we should get him a gift."

Ron's ears perked up at that and knew she was right; he tried to start thinking what to get him.

"Oh, by 'we' I mean Ron and I... uhm... yeah, he came early today..." she lied, and Ron leaned forward to try to catch her eye, to tease her for the fib. He smirked when she evaded him, and went back to lie against the pillows. "Well, you see... uhm, yes, Mum. We're together. Ron's my boyfriend."

Ron couldn't help but jump a bit as he heard her announce it to her parents, his heart skipping a beat. He straightened up on the sofa again, turning so that he could look at Hermione's face. She was blushing.

"It's all quite recent... yes, I know you've been suspecting it for a while... he's amazing, Mum," she said, and this time she smiled as she finally looked at him. He smiled back, feeling proud and cocky all of a sudden. "He's been really supportive—he never lets me be foolish for too long. He's been here for me when I need him. I honestly think I'm lucky," she finished, her words making joy spread through his chest like bright light. She leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek. "That's because I _am_ happy, Mum... well, yeah, about that—we were thinking, remember what Dad said a little while ago? That maybe I could bring someone with me if I wanted? Yeah, well, maybe Ron can come to Australia for a few days with me?"

His heart beating fast, Ron searched Hermione's face for any clues that could tell him what her parents were saying, but it was her words that finally told him what he needed to know.

"Yes, he's not Muggle-born, but we've talked about it. I'll go there first and spend a few days with you both, and then he would come join us. I'll go pick him up, so he can travel there the Wizard way, but we'll leave together by aeroplane. That way we still respect your wishes and you still get to see him... we were thinking in a few weeks, after the ceremony. We're not completely sure Ron can go yet; he needs to check a few things but... yes, I know we have to decide in the next few days, but I promise we'll let you know this week."

The conversation ended soon after that. Hermione had barely hung up when he sprinted his question. "How did she sound? Does she hate me already?"

Hermione laughed. "No, Ron. She sounded more proud than anything that they had figured it out already. See? My plan worked perfectly."

"Fine, that's good. Not hating me is a good start."

She lifted her hand to his face, an exasperated smile on hers. "Stop that."

"All right," he conceded. "We're really official, now, then!"

"What do you mean? We've been official since you asked me to be your girlfriend!" she complained.

"But it's different now, isn't it? Now your parents _know_ I'm with you! Oh, Merlin," he said, opening his eyes wide as a thought crossed his mind. "Is your dad going to ask what my intentions are?"

"Shut up, Ron," she said, laughing. "We have shopping to do."

* * *

Several days went by and, even if she had been stressing about Ron postponing his side of the plan—the asking George part; Ron insisted he needed to be careful—, for once it wasn't _that_ that was worrying Hermione into a frenzy.

The letter in Hermione's pocket felt like it was about to burst into flames, and she had to wonder if the way it seemed to vibrate was an indication of its contents, or rather of how it was trying to insist she open it. She both wanted to ignore it and tear it open, but had decided for the first in the hopes that opening it with Ron would make the words more manageable.

She came into the shop in a hurry, well ahead of opening time, wanting to catch Ron before he started working. She went up the stairs and knocked one, two—five times in a quick, impatient rhythm. After a minute, George opened the door, still wearing his pajamas.

"Bloody hell, Hermione. You can use the Floo Network or just Apparate here, you know?" George complained. "What is this 'knocking on the door' business?"

She pushed George aside and walked into the flat. "It is common courtesy, George. I don't intend to just appear without notice, all right? Where's Ron?"

"In the shower," he grumbled. "I'm making breakfast. Will you eat some with us?"

"No, thanks," she said as she disappeared into Ron's bedroom to wait for him. She sat on his bed, her back to the wall—Ron hadn't bothered to get a headboard—and left the letter on the mattress in front of her. There were no flames, but it _was_ vibrating: after a quick inspection, she noticed a stamp had appeared on it, which stated _notice: this envelope has a_ Read Me Soon _spell—it is recommended that you do so!_ Still Hermione resisted the urge to open it and, covering it with Ron's sheets, she lied back to wait, the silence in the room broken only by the deafening rush of blood in her ears.

A few minutes later, Ron came into his room just as her nervousness began to run out of control. He had a towel wrapped around his hips; his hair looked dark as it was wet, and hundreds of droplets covered his shoulders. As delightful as it was, she was too worried about the letter to let the sight affect her too much—and yet, she didn't say anything to let him know she was there.

He was looking at the floor and jumped a bit when he finally saw her, automatically reaching for his wand as it was tucked behind his ear.

"Bloody—" he began, but interrupted himself. "Could have told me you'd be here, you know?" he said as he grabbed his towel to keep it in place, using his other hand to close the door behind him. He then walked to her and gave her a quick peck on the lips. "What's up?" he asked as he opened the closet to choose clothes to wear that day.

She sighed, taking the letter from underneath the sheets. He hid behind the closet door and threw his towel to the bed, the wooden plank functioning as a screen.

"I got a letter from Hogwarts," she announced, to then see him appear wearing his pants. Even though he was pretending to be casual about it, his red ears betrayed him. She smiled a bit, but even that wasn't enough to distract her from her nervousness.

"Oh? What did it say?"

"I... I didn't open it," she said as she handled the envelope in her hand, which was now vibrating even harder. "I could feel myself getting anxious over it and, well—I did make you a promise. I came here so that you could help me keep my composure."

"Oh, okay," he replied. He reached for his trousers and stepped in them, quickly buttoning them up and sitting on the bed in front of her. "Uhm... so how do you want to do this?" He reached and took the letter from her hands, turning it over and inspecting it.

Hermione could feel her breathing speeding up just by thinking he was going to open it. Thoughts started running through her mind: was she overreacting? Was she going to hyperventilate again? Was she going to fail?

"Hey, Hermione, look at me," Ron was saying, taking one of her hands in his.

She hadn't realised she had closed her eyes. She opened them.

"We're still okay," Ron insisted, squeezing her hand. "Let's... let's just keep it that way, all right?"

She nodded her understanding, wondering if this would be like on Saturday—she would think she was able to control it, only to have her mind seized by fear in an instant.

"So what do you want to do? Uhm... out of the options Laura gave us... uhm..."

Hermione knew that was the thing to do; think about the techniques and her options instead of what could go wrong. It was just so hard to do!

"There's the breathing thing... why don't you start with the breathing?" he suggested.

Hermione nodded her head once more. She took a deep breath and let it out.

"Slowly," Ron corrected, to then breathe in deeply as well but in a slow manner, to show her.

She tried again, this time imitating Ron.

"Good, again?" Ron said, and she did.

Then it was easier to go back to a calmer breathing. She tried not to think of how low the chances were it would last.

"What do you want to do? Do you want me to read the letter and tell you what it says? Then you can keep thinking about your breathing."

"No," Hermione said. "I want to read it. I don't think I can stand waiting."

"Or, we can read it together," he suggested as he gave her the envelope. Then he got up from the bed, and motioned Hermione to move forward on the bed.

She was confused, but did it. Then was glad to see him sitting behind her, his back to the wall, each of his legs on one side of her. Smiling, she lay back against him, enjoying the sudden wave of calmness it provided. She was still anxious, but his close presence certainly helped.

She took another deep breath and proceeded to tear the envelope open. It stopped vibrating instantly.

She unfolded the letter and, even though the sole act of it made her hands tremble once more, she tried to hold on to the control she currently had on herself.

"Just breathe, okay?" Ron repeated behind her, his arms coming around her waist.

She nodded again, and started to read.

 

_To Ms. Hermione Granger  
Gryffindor Head Girl_

_Your presence is requested for a welcome luncheon to be held at Hogwarts this Thursday, July 30th, at 13:00 hours. It will be an opportunity for all Prefects, Head Girl, and Head Boy to become acquainted with each other in preparation for the new school year. An important meeting will follow, where new strategies and responsibilities will be extensively explained._

_Please confirm your availability a.s.a.p._

_All the best,_

_Professor M. McGonagall  
Headmistress of Hogwarts_

 

Hermione read the letter a few more times, trying to use the careful process to come down from the heightened state of hyperawareness.

"It doesn't seem to be bad news, does it?" Ron asked.

"No, it doesn't," she agreed. She hated that now that she knew it wasn't, the fear was being replaced by shame. "I'm sorry I made such a big deal out of it."

"Hey, it doesn't matter to me. All I see is that you were stressing over it so you came to ask for help. That's what I asked you to do, so to me this is brilliant."

Hermione scoffed, knowing he was making that up to try to make her feel better. "Thanks," she said, but she knew there wasn't much enthusiasm in her voice.

Ron sighed, frustrated. "So," he said again, evidently trying to quench his own irritation for her sake. "You like analyzing. You want to analyze what happened?"

She didn't, really, but decided she owed it to him. "Okay."

"Why were you nervous?"

She shrugged, her head hanging low. "I don't know. I can't really think when I get nervous like this."

"But you're feeling better, aren't you? What do you think happened?"

"Ron, it's just— well—"

Ron stayed quiet behind her. She felt the answer finally coming to her in that space of understanding and patience he was offering, and it helped her to finally comprehend the whole thing a bit better.

"School has always been what I'm good at, isn't it?" she began, her voice gaining strength and speed as she spoke. "And now I'm Head Girl. But it feels fake, in a way; feeling like life can go on normally after all we went through. Like the war was a parenthesis but it didn't really change anything. And I don't know if everyone will be happy with me being Head Girl, after taking a break from school, and you won't be there, and Harry won't be there and I'm not good at making friends! And I have this stupid PTSD making everything harder and I just—it's a lot to deal with. Getting the letter is a reminder that being with you is coming to an end, because I'll be leaving soon. All of it together and, well... I'm not as excited for school as I would like to be..."

Ron remained quiet, and Hermione knew that this time he was thinking over the things she had said. It was like a weight off her chest, to finally put words to the feeling lodged there. So this time she was the one to wait for him to decide where to begin.

"Remember what you said to me just the other time, when I was afraid that moving in here would make me forget Fred? You said life goes on and it forces us to move on. We're lucky we can say that we can have our life return to normal because, if we had lost the war, there wouldn't be anything normal or good about our lives right now. And, if there had never been a war, there would have been people upset you got to be Head Girl, too, because let's face it—people can be pretty shitty, right?"

She laughed. "Yeah."

"So you'll do your best and you'll be the best and things are going to keep going."

"And what about the anxiety attacks? And you not being there?"

"We'll keep trying to get better and, well... we'll make the most of the Hogsmeade weekends," he finished with a sigh, his own dread for the time evident in his words. Even so, perhaps because he was trying to not think about it, he tried to make her laugh. "Who would have thought, Hermione Granger not being hundred percent excited about school. I must be rubbing off you, huh?"

* * *

Harry Potter's birthday that year fell on a Friday, and everyone in the family was invited to the Burrow for dinner and celebration. Luna, Neville and his date, Hannah Abbot, as well as Andromeda and Teddy. Cassia had been left in charge of the shop for the evening, a new step in trying out the employees' hands at keeping the store running when neither George nor Ron were there. Ron had been nervous for about two minutes, forgetting all that had to do with the shop as the party began and he remembered how everything had gone perfectly well the week before.

Besides, he was too happy to worry too much about anything. Hermione had come home the evening before with great news: Hogsmeade weekends were going to happen more often this year, the extra dates available only for excelling students. Knowing his girlfriend, Ron knew that meant she'd be allowed out of Hogwarts each time. Nope, nothing could affect his mood tonight, when he thought that as hard as it would be to be apart from her, they'd still get to spend time together more often than expected.

He came out of the kitchen, butterbeer in hand and a silly smile on his face, and walked to his best friend talking to Ginny, Neville, and Hannah. Ron unceremoniously punched Harry on the shoulder, only to have him retaliate with one of his own. Then, like nothing had happened, they quieted and listened to what Hannah was saying.

"We really grew closer the last couple of years over our mutual love for Herbology," the pretty blonde next to Neville was saying. "Pretty standard, really."

"I know," Ginny commented. "Seems like we all fell for someone we met at school. A bit of a cliché, but what can you do? You're stuck with them for hours and plaf, they go and do something cute and all of a sudden you've got the palpitations!"

They all laughed.

"I guess that's exactly why it's so common," Neville agreed. "Seven years of being surrounded by lots of people your age, getting to know them and talking to them... you're bound to meet someone you like."

"Well, technically you met me at King's Cross, though, and then when I came to stay here the first time, Gin," Harry intervened, teasing her with raised eyebrows. "I came right to your doorstep and you could never forget me ever since."

This time, everyone laughed except for the shortest readhead of the bunch. "Keep with that and I still might," she teased back.

"I don't know who I should defend here," Ron joked. "It can get pretty thorny between the two of you and then what am I to do? Best mate," he said lifting a hand, "or little sister," he added, lifting the other. He then moved his hands up and down as if measuring each against the other.

"You call that _thorny_?" Harry questioned, incredulous. "Let me remind you that I had to live with the bickering between you and Hermione for years. Years. You can't complain!"

"We weren't that bad!" Ron tried to defend, but everyone laughed as if he had meant it as a joke.

"Please, Ron!" Neville said. "I don't know if you ever heard, but there was a time in fifth year when a few of us were betting on how long you could bicker with her for, with bonus points if we guessed who would say the last word. You bickered with her enough that we made it into a sport of sorts; the perfect distraction from our homework!"

"You're not serious," Ron said, baffled.

"Oh, I am," Neville insisted, effectively shutting Ron up for a while.

The conversation went around him for a few minutes, a weird sort of ache in his chest. He straightened up to look around the garden in search of Hermione. He finally saw her talking to Luna, quietly sitting at one of the benches that had been brought outside for dinner.

"Be back later," Ron announced, stepping away in her direction.

"... they really help with all sorts of terrors, as they protect you from all evil magic, including your own," Luna was saying as he came close. "I can find some for you, if you like."

"I'm fine, really, but thanks," Hermione was saying, and Ron could hear the slight tension in her voice. Ron reached her, putting his free hand on her shoulder.

"Hi, Luna," he said. "Nice to see you again. I'm sorry we had to leave so suddenly last week."

"Oh, I understand. I'm glad to see there are no hard feelings and that I was invited to the party," she commented, her big eyes looking up at him.

"Do you mind if I take Hermione away? There's something I need to tell her," he lied, knowing Hermione would be grateful.

"No problem. I'll go talk to the others, I'm looking forward to getting to know Hannah," she added, standing up and stepping away with a light skip.

Ron sat down next to Hermione.

"Thanks," she said. "I love her, but, Merlin, she can get on my nerves sometimes."

"I know," Ron said, taking a swig of his drink.

"What did you want to say?"

"Oh, nothing. I just made that up so that she would leave us," he explained.

Hermione laughed, her face softening. "Thanks," she said again, briefly resting her forehead on his shoulder. "Have you had a chance to talk to George yet?" she asked.

"Oh, uhm... no," he replied, knowing perfectly well what she was referring to, scrunching his face as he half expected her to scold him. She had reminded him he still needed to talk to George on and off, but he had resisted—he was too nervous George would say no and Ron would have to stay. He didn't want to be disappointed; not only because it meant he wouldn't be able to spend time with Hermione, but because he knew he had to keep George as a priority and disappointment did _not_ equal George being Ron's top priority.

Besides, the longer he waited, the more chances there were George would be feeling better, right? More chances George would be okay with Ron leaving for a week.

"Ron..." Hermione began next to him, and Ron immediately started excusing himself.

"I swear I'll do it, I just haven't found the perfect time!"

"Then just ask him! Maybe there's no perfect time," she countered. "We're running out of time, if we want to go to Australia together at all!"

"I know, I know," he replied, forcefully releasing the air in his lungs through his nose.

"I'm serious," she insisted. "I'd have to leave in ten days or so, max! I need to buy the tickets and get Portkeys set and all! I can't—we can't wait any longer, Ron."

Ron sighed, knowing she was right. He looked at her, her eyes locked on his and both bright and worried. They needed an answer, and needed one fast—even if it meant he might have to stay home Hermione-less for a week.

"Fine," he said. "George!" he called, and Hermione made to stand up. "No, stay," Ron said, and saw his brother make his way to them.

"What's up, little brother?"

"Uhm..." Ron instantly regretted his impulsiveness. He didn't know how to broach the subject, and he couldn't even ask all the questions he would have liked with Hermione there. "Errr..."

"Out with it," George insisted, taking a swig of his own bottle.

Ron could feel Hermione's eyes on him. "Well, I've been meaning to ask you... that is, Hermione is thinking of going to Australia for a few days this month and... well, I was wondering if you think it'd be okay if I go with her?"

"To Australia? Meet the in-laws and all of that?"

George's comment managed to make his nervousness rise.

"So I reckon you two are serious about your relationship?" he added, a smirk on his face.

"George!" Hermione exclaimed, shocked, reaching for Ron's hand and squeezing it in his.

"Of course we are!" Ron added, cross, squeezing her hand back.

"Fine, fine, I'm sorry! I was joking. Bad joke, I get it," he conceded. He took another swig and continued after a moment. "Well... why do you ask, then? I don't have to give you permission or anything."

"But you do, kinda," Ron argued, his temper still flaring up a bit after George's joke. "It'd mean I wouldn't be there to help with the business, right? And, well... you know, you would be alone at the flat and... you know," he lamely repeated, shrugging, looking at his older brother and hoping he got what Ron meant.

"Mmmph. Well, I see. How long would you be away for?"

Ron looked at Hermione before answering. "We're thinking about a week total for me. Hermione a few days longer."

George looked at the floor, contemplative.

"Cassia can take charge of a few things," Ron continued, hoping to reassure George things would be fine at least on his end. "I can teach Ginny how to do the essential paperwork, too. A week is not too long, if you think about it."

George tilted his head to the side, still thinking about it. It made Ron anxious.

"Maybe Ginny can stay in my room during that week?" Ron insisted. "We can tell Mum and Dad it's practice for when she leaves for Hogwarts a couple of weeks afterwards..."

This time, George scoffed. "Nice one," he said. "All right, listen— I— Mmmph. See, I'm not sure what I want to do about that week, but... I'll think about it. As for your trip... go, Ron. Go meet the in-laws and woo them with your looks and charisma. We'll figure the rest out."


	32. Interlude

Booklets, files, and pieces of parchment were covering every inch of Ron's desk. Ginny was sitting in front of him, paying attention to Ron like she rarely had.

"So," he was saying, "this needs to be checked mid-morning and a few hours before we close at night. That way, if we need any urgent shipments, you can order them immediately without affecting the product supply."

"Got it," she replied.

"All orders need to be done in writing on this special set of parchment," he indicated to a stack that had _WWW!_ in bright purple in a corner. "It's charmed so that it copies to these books," Ron explained as he pointed to a book on the shelf, "as an official buying offer. Then you give them to Pig and he'll take it all."

"Good," she nodded her understanding.

"I'll teach you the work with the numbers tomorrow, then," Ron announced as he used his wand to put away a few of the things on his desk, trying to make some room.

"Okay," she replied. "Gotta say, it _is_ a lot of work."

Ron shrugged. "Yeah, but it's not difficult. You'll be fine for a week, won't you?"

"Yeah, yeah," Ginny said, a hand waving in front of her, dismissing. "Don't worry about it. So," she added, "excited about the trip? About meeting the in-laws and all?"

"But I do know them, Gin. I've met them several times," Ron argued, if only to calm himself. He _was_ nervous, but he wasn't going to let his sister know that.

"But you weren't Hermione's boyfriend any of those times," Gin countered, half a smile on her face.

Even if Ron knew she was just trying to tease him, he still couldn't help but get annoyed. "What are you trying to do? Get me all high-strung so that I make myself look like a bloody idiot?"

"No, no, sorry," she replied. "Just trying to make conversation. Must be exciting, though; and it's such long ways away, too!"

"I know. Hermione is out now buying aeroplane tickets and getting the Portkeys organized and all that. She says she wants to leave this weekend right after the ceremony—oh, hi!" Ron said as his girlfriend appeared behind Ginny.

"Hey," Hermione said, coming to him and briefly kissing him on the lips, putting a package on Ron's desk.

He turned to check at it, opening a transparent, plastic envelope to get a few rectangular pieces of thick, greenish paper.

"Behold the aeroplane tickets!" Hermione exclaimed, standing beside him. "I added our Portkey permits in the same envelope, to keep it all together. I'll make a separate package with all your things tonight, Ron, by the way—"

"Can I see?" Ginny said, and Ron gave her the package of things as he turned to Hermione.

"Portkey permits? We never had to get those before," he said.

"Post-war requirement," Hermione explained. "They opened the borders but they're still monitoring wizard traveling."

"So when are you leaving?" Ron asked as he reached up to put his hands on Hermione's waist to bring her closer to him.

Probably because Ginny was there, she took a step closer to him but didn't come quite as close as he had hoped. "Saturday. My plane leaves at 2:35pm... and I'll arrive in Australia on Sunday evening—Monday morning in Australia."

Ron nodded his head from side to side in bewilderment. "I still don't get why you want to take a plane all the way there."

"I told you, my parents are going to want to know all the details of how I'm getting there—much more than the details of what I'm doing once we leave."

"Uhm, guys?" Ginny said across the desk. "Why is there such a long stop-over in France?"

Ron turned to her, slightly panicked.

Ginny was looking at them with a twinkle in her eye and a full-on smirking face. "You sneaky—-a _voucher_ for a hotel in—Villefranche-sur-Mer?!"

"Gin—" Ron began.

"There's a lot of nice things to do there!" Hermione argued, slightly frantic at being caught.

"Well, at least you seem to _actually_ be going to Australia! Or is that an elaborate ruse?" Gin insisted, tricking them into sharing the details.

"It's not!" Both Hermione and Ron answered at the same time.

"Don't tell Mum," Ron added. "I'm telling her about the trip to Australia tonight—but I'll conveniently forget to mention the France part."

Ginny shook her head disapprovingly. "I won't tell her, but—Merlin! I envy you two! It's me whose birthday is coming up!"

Ron stole a look to Hermione, to see her looking half-sheepish, half determined. "I know," she said, "I'm sorry I'm going to miss it, but I'm really excited—for all of the trip."

"I guess it's good that _someone_ knows about our whole plan," Ron added. "Just in case."

"Is there _more_ to know?" Ginny asked, as if terrified of what she might hear.

"No, there isn't," Hermione clarified, now with a playful smirk of her own. "We're just telling my parents we're traveling back to England on the 15th, while we're telling everybody else we're coming back on the 19th..."

Ginny sighed. "Yes, I envy you. You'll be telling Harry as well, now, right? Because I'll want to rant to him about the unfairness of the situation."

"Go ahead and rant to him; much better than ranting to us, in my opinion," Ron said. "I'll tell him tonight, too."

"Yeah, but he's going to be late tonight. They are—listen to this—they are going to measure him tonight!"

"For robes?" Hermione asked, in a voice that sounded very much like she was hoping the answer would be robes.

"Yes! Two different sets of Auror robes: a set for work-related Ministry affairs, like hearings and important meetings, and another for ceremonies such as the one this Friday! For normal work and everyday meetings and stuff, they're going to continue using just normal clothes, for stealth, right? But for those others..."

"Wow, more changes!" Ron exclaimed. "The second fast-tracking group started yesterday," he added, with an uncomfortable feeling gripping his stomach—but he didn't know if it was because he was missing out on it, or because it made him nervous to think he'd be in that position soon enough.

"I know," Ginny said, distracted, before turning to Hermione. "You know what that means, Hermione? Your boyfriend here is also going to wear a uniform, from time to time."

* * *

 

"I'm not going."

George's voice was clear and severe as he uttered the words.

Ron looked at his brother, sitting next to him at their parents' kitchen, dinner mostly finished on their plates. George was steadily staring at their dad, a slightly defiant curl to his mouth.

"Son, this is an important event. The Ministry—" Arthur began, but George didn't let him finish.

"The Ministry can kiss my—"

"George!" Molly and Percy exclaimed.

"Stop!" Ron urged as he elbowed George on the ribs.

"Fine, but I'm still not going!" he insisted as he elbowed Ron back.

"It's an important event, George," Arthur continued arguing. "It's not only about commemorating those who have left us, but showing the wizarding world we're still strong and we still stand for the values that fought against Voldemort. As a part of the Order, I expected you to understand that better! After how much you and Fred fought to be officially admitted!" he added, evidently upset.

"This is not about fighting to keep Voldemort out of power, but just some pompous nonsense that the Ministry thinks is going to make us forget about the bad times. You know as well as I do Fred would agree!"

"He would have agreed, yeah," Ron countered, "but he would have still gone—he just would have taken a few Dungbombs in his pocket, wouldn't he? To add some fun to the occasion."

"Don't give him ideas, Ron, please?" Molly groaned as others laughed, while Ron stole a glance at George. When he saw him suppressing a smile, Ron knew George was doing better—and that he agreed.

"But what does it matter?" George asked. "It's not like this is a family event. There are going to be hundreds of people there we don't know, and official ceremonies and dances and stuff like that—I don't know, it doesn't feel like the proper way to commemorate anybody, least of all Fred."

"The speech Kingsley is preparing is meant to do that; properly commemorate the fallen," Percy offered. "He's making a big effort to make this both a respectful event and a celebration."

"Well, it's too late, anyway. I already sent my RSVP, declining the invitation," George said, clearly looking like he felt that would win the argument.

Ron saw Percy exchange a look with their dad, before looking back at George with a hint of a smile on the corners of his mouth. "Well... I'm sure than can be... addressed... if you were to change your mind..."

George rolled his eyes in frustration, and opened his mouth to speak when Arthur interrupted him.

"Anyway, we'll talk more about it soon. You said there is something you wanted to talk about, Ron?"

Ron inwardly cringed: the mood wasn't one conducive to hearing what he wanted to say with an open mind.

"Well, Hermione's not here yet—maybe I should wait for her to tell you..." Ron began, trying to gain some time.

"Is everything all right with you two?" Arthur asked.

"Yes, Dad, everything is okay. We just have a bit of news we hope you're going to be okay with, is all."

"If you got that sweet girl pregnant, Ron Weasley, you're going to face serious consequences, young man!" Molly declared, causing a wave of snickers to travel around the table.

"What?!" Ron exclaimed in pure abject horror. "Why on earth would you jump to that right away?"

"What are those news then?" Molly insisted. "If you don't want me to jump to conclusions, then tell me all there is to it."

"It's not a big deal, Mum—just a trip. Hermione is going to go to Australia to see her parents, before the new school year begins, and I'll go as well for a little while."

"You're going to Australia?" Arthur asked, while Molly looked up to the ceiling as if needing help from a divine being to cope with her family at the moment.

"Of course that Hermione going is a good idea, but you, Ron? Why would you go?" Molly added.

"Because she asked me to," Ron countered through his teeth, trying his hardest to not lose control of his temper.

"Mhhpff," Molly uttered. "And when is this trip supposed to happen? September is just around the corner!"

"Hermione is leaving on Saturday," Ron explained, still annoyed but in better control of it. "I'll leave on the morning of the 12th. We'll return on the 19th," he added, resolutely avoiding Ginny's eyes.

"And before you ask," George added, "Ginny is going to take over his work at the shop and I... well, I thought I could come stay with you while he's away. You know, just to... to spend some time with you all while Ron's away."

Ron looked at George, surprised, as he hadn't known that's what George had been thinking. George returned his look, giving him a quick wink as Molly continued talking.

"But—" Arthur began, before he was interrupted by Molly's quick pat on his arm..

"Well, of course, that makes sense," Molly agreed suddenly, evidently having decided that George staying with them was a good trade off for Ron going away for a week. "I see you have thought of everything. I'll be really happy to have you here, George, dear."

And, just like that, there was no fighting Ron on his trip to Australia. A scoff escaped him as he looked from his mum to his dad, then to George, to then let a nervous, almost silent chuckle out at the unexpected situation. Feeling both thankful and confused at it not being the fight he had half-expected, he knew he had George to thank for it.

As they all got up from the table a while later, Ron grabbed George from the sleeve.

"Hey, thanks for earlier," he said. "I wish I had thought of that."

"No problem. This break will do us both good, I think. Besides, you deserve it," George added.

Ron didn't need George to say what was implied in his words: that this was George's way to say thanks for everything.

* * *

 

Harry, Ginny, and Ron sat in the bench under the tree. Hermione hadn't arrived yet, and they had decided to step outside to enjoy the cool summer evening.

"So how was the fitting, mate?" Ron asked from his place on the floor in front of the pair.

"Uhm... normal? Nothing special, really. A bit awkward, though—lift your arm like so, stand like so... the inseam and rise, too... well, Ron, that's the worst part," he joked, and the other two laughed.

"By the way, George totally saved you in there," Ginny commented. "I expected Mum to put more of a fight with your trip."

"I know; he was brilliant there. I think... I think he's doing better, don't you?" Ron asked, hopeful yet dubious. He had thought he was doing better before, only to learn he wasn't, not really.

"Looks like it," Ginny agreed. "It's never going to be easy, I don't think... but it's better now."

Ron assented. "Anyway, Harry, uhm..."

"Hermione is coming," Harry interrupted, and Ron was thankful for it.

He didn't really think Harry was going to complain about their stay in France, but he still preferred to say it with Hermione present. He turned to look at her as she approached them, finally sitting next to him on the ground. He didn't notice the smile that crossed his own face as she reached to put a hand on one of his crossed legs.

"Hey," she said. "Sorry it took me so long; my parents and I talked for a long time — they're so happy we're going! And then I decided to have dinner while starting to pack. Saturday is going to be here soon enough! Did I miss anything?"

"Oh, just that Ron's mum thought you were pregnant for a moment," Harry cheeked.

"What?!" she asked, in very much the same way Ron had when it had occurred.

"Don't listen to him, Hermione," Ron countered, smirking. "It's solved now. I was telling them we had a bit of news and she jumped to conclusions, is all."

"But— why—"

"Forget about it," Ron insisted. "I was just going to tell Harry about France."

"Oh," she said, shaking her head to clear the confusion.

"France?" Harry asked, his turn to be confused.

"Yep," Ron began. "The thing is, Hermione and I are not _only_ going to Australia—we're also going to be stopping in France for a few days."

"Alone," Ginny detailed, bumping Harry with her shoulder.

"Oookaay," Harry said, elongating the word. "And I have to know that, why?"

"Mostly because I discovered their secret plan," Ginny further explained.

"I don't get it," Harry complained, but Ron immediately expanded on it.

"Not that, or not _only_ that. It's just that maybe it's good that you two know, in case we need to be contacted for some reason."

"Hopefully nothing's going to come up during those three days, but, you know... just in case." Hermione added. "We'll leave you the hotel's information but, of course, don't tell anybody about this unless necessary."

"Mum might not have put much of a fight right now, but I'm sure she would if she knew of this part of our plan, for obvious reasons," Ron continued. "I don't think _anything_ could distract her from the fact we're going to be alone there, not even if we convinced all of our siblings to come live here with them again."

"Got it," Harry said. "But please let me change the subject. I don't want to know more than I need to about that part of your plan."

"Deal," Ron said. "So have you seen the new group of Auror trainees yet?"

"Yep," he replied. "They look fine. They're in for a ride and— oh, you know what I learned today? I wasn't told I _couldn't_ tell you this so I will—you'll like it!"

"Oh?" Ron replied, his interest piqued.

"So remember that group of Aurors that finished their training before I began mine? Well, they're doing Auror stuff out in the real world already, while we finish our training and begin the testing and all of that. Well, as this new group gets more advanced in their training, they're going to be paired up with the older group!"

"So?" Ginny and Ron asked at the same time.

"So there's a big chance that my group is going to be paired up with yours! And I think they're going to be paired up according to fighting styles and overall personality compatibility!"

"Do you mean..." Ron started to say, but Hermione interrupted him.

"So there's a chance you and Harry could be paired up!" she said, straightening up in excitement.

"Yes! That's what I thought!" Harry added.

"That would be brilliant!" Ron exclaimed. "It might be that it all might work out well, at the end!"

"Yes," Harry said once more, this time in a different tone, one much more hopeful. "That's what I thought."

Harry's words and Ron's thoughts were inadvertently matching up right on that moment: they were both imagining a future time, when despite having been separated during this rushed training, they would go back to working together. To both, it kind of felt like the only right way of doing things, even if neither could have put it into words or uttered a single one out loud.

* * *

 

The click of the door to his room closing told Ron that Hermione had returned from brushing her teeth. He finished pulling his shirt down from over his head, surprised when she came to hug him.

"What's this for?" he asked as he surrounded her with his arms as well.

"I was thinking..." she said, looking up at him.

It was evident she hadn't finished her thought due to something distracting her; he knew he should wait for her to continue. Still, he couldn't help himself and had to say what was on the tip of his tongue.

"A very Hermione thing to do, thinking," he quipped.

She rolled her eyes. "And to think I'm going to miss that."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked as he furrowed his eyebrows.

"That's what I was thinking about. The fact that our month is planned all the way to the 19th and then, after that," she said as her voice began to lose volume and strength, "it'll be two weeks and I'll have to take the train to Hogwarts," she finished in a whisper.

As low as her voice was, it came as a punch to the stomach. He still didn't want to think about that.

He hugged her close, pressing her against him. "It's too early in the month to think about that, and too late in the day."

"I'm going to miss you so much," she insisted, and he pushed her back just enough to kiss her.

"Please, let's not focus on that yet," he was ashamed to insist, but he was not ready at all to think about that. "I'd rather think of the ceremony on Friday and then think about France. Nothing else."

"Okay, then," she said as she rose to the tip of her toes, stretching up to hook her arms around his neck, the weight of her body against his. "let's not think for a while. Let's go to bed?"

Thankful, he smiled and rearranged his arms around her so that he could lift her off the ground, taking her to bed himself. "I'd much rather, yes," he agreed, walking backwards with Hermione pressed to his chest.

Once next to his bed, he turned and held her to him with an arm as he climbed on the bed; he didn't want to be any farther away from her than he had to. He lay down on top of her, their legs tangled on top of the mattress.

"Uff," she complained as she felt the weight of him, and he scrambled to pull his arms on her sides, putting his weight on his elbows.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's okay," she said, lifting her hands to his face. "I don't mind. I... I actually like it, in a way."

"You do?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Yes—for just a moment, though. I need to breathe after a while."

He chuckled as he lowered his face to kiss hers, then her jaw, then her neck, setting a leisurely pace across her skin.

"Do you think we should have sex when we're in France?" Hermione asked, slightly breathless but otherwise seemingly composed. It didn't stop Ron from freezing in the middle of nuzzling under her ear. When he was able to breathe again, the air came in with a sense of tingling all over his chest.

He lifted his head again to stare at Hermione, looking deeply into her wonderful brown eyes, the shyness and nervousness he was feeling mirrored there. He was mute, so she had to fill the silence.

"No? Yes? I don't like it when you're speechless," she tried to joke, a slight tremor in her voice.

"You really want to?" he finally was able to say. His blood had begun rushing in his veins at the very thought. He was half-terrified, half-eager.

"I just... well, it'd be a great memory to have, wouldn't it? We could always look back and think of how we went all the way during those three days in France," she added, and a soft pink color covered her face.

"I mean...," he began, trying to put words to the way he felt. "My first reaction is an absolute yeah, let's do it," he admitted, in what he hoped was a self-deprecating manner. She giggled, not a common sound coming from her. "It's a bit strange to put such an exact date on it, though, isn't it?"

"So you think it'll rob it from some of its... magic? I was worried about that, to be honest, but then, maybe it'll help with the nerves, too, right? Or it'll help me, I think," she rambled. "You know I need to have a sense of control, and—Merlin, I do think we're so close to being ready, and I think I would be, really, if it weren't for the nerves. I've read that good sex is a lot about being able to let go of control, and you know how hard that is for me. But I want it to be good for us, and I need to let go of control; I just realised that this morning. That my need for control is getting in the way of enjoying you and enjoying all of this as much as I could and, seriously, Ron, why haven't you stopped me talking yet?"

He laughed before briefly kissing her once. "I don't stop you because, one, I'm used to it and I kind of like it. Two, because I learn a lot about the way you're feeling when you babble on."

"I don't _babble,_ " she complained, almost indignant. "I think out loud!"

He laughed harder now, giving her a longer, deeper kiss this time. "Sure, tell yourself what you have to. I don't care what you call it, I still like it."

She rolled her eyes as he moved to lay beside her, propping his head on his hand. "So it's decided? France?" She asked once more.

"Can we at least not decide exactly when during those three days?" he countered, seeing her turning to her side to look at him. "If I have a specific time I'm not going to be able to relax."

She smiled, nodding her agreement. "I can live with that. You're doing the contraceptive spell, right?"

"Yes, yes, of course."

"Me too"

"Good."

"Good."

They were silent for a few minutes, before the significance of it all started to dawn on him.

"Merlin, we're having sex in ten days. I can't believe it's gonna happen," Ron said. "It almost feels like I'm back in my bed at school, fantasizing about being with you like that, and fearing that someone's gonna wake me up any time now."

"I know. It's strange, but…"

"Yeah, a bit daunting, really, but at the same time…"

"Yes. I like knowing we're finally here; that our relationship is now, you know, romantic, and that we've come so far physically as well. I'm not completely sure I'm ready, to be honest, yet I do know I don't care right now."

"How does that work, exactly?" Ron asked, putting his hand on her waist. Her words made him suddenly concerned that maybe she was feeling pressured. If she wasn't fully convinced she wanted this as much as he did, then he wouldn't be able to get into it without a strong feeling of guilt. His parents hadn't talked to him about sex much, which was both a curse and a blessing, really, but between his dad and his brothers there were a few messages that had been strongly hammered into his brain, one of the most important ones being that he could not force himself on anybody.

"Well," she tried to explain, "what I mean is that I have to practice things a lot before I feel confident enough to feel like I'm fine with it. If that's not possible, I want to have a good set of rules memorized, but that can often fail if I'm nervous. Though you know all of that about me."

"I do. And I hate to break this to you, but I don't know how that fits with sex… unless you just want to get it over with and concentrate on the mechanics of it and just do it?"

"No, no, of course I don't want that. And that's the problem—there's no real strategy but just going ahead and doing it."

"Hermione, you know we're gonna be shite at it at first, right?"

"I know. And you know I hate that, right?"

He laughed. "Yeah, I know. But if we keep trying, I'm told we'll get better," Ron said, wiggling his eyebrows for emphasis.

"Who told you that?"

"You don't want to know," he replied, pushing the memory of a drunken, awkward night at Shell Cottage aside. "But I guess I have to ask again: are you fine with this? Do you really want to do it?"

"Yes, Ron! I do. I'm not going to let my nerves get in the way of it. I… I do want to be with you like that. And if this need for control gets in the way, I'm going to fight it."

He smiled. "Then I guess it's happening…"

"Yes, it is."

He took a moment to look at her, almost unbelieving of what they had just decided.

"I was practically ready to wait until after you returned from Hogwarts," he confessed, which was easy now that it was decided that they wouldn't.

"Really? You would have waited that long?"

She sounded really shocked, but to him it was all pretty obvious.

"Really. I waited a long time to be with you. It wouldn't have killed me to wait for this, either. I really thought… I really expected you would want to take things more slowly than this."

"And does it bother you that I don't? Do you think it makes me too much of a scarlet woman?"

"Never!" he exclaimed, almost offended. "By Merlin, Hermione—it's not like we met yesterday and, really, I've wanted you for ages. Feels like we've waited plenty, if you ask me."

"That's how I feel. And I really just want it, with you."

Still only half-believing his luck—she loved him, she wanted to be his girlfriend, and she wanted him physically, too—, he was only able to utter a "too brilliant" before reaching for a kiss.

Despite what they had been discussing, they kissed slowly and softly. She moved and shifted on the bed to be closer to him, and he moved his hand back to her lower back to bring her even closer. Suddenly, one of those strange moments when you become aware of things struck him: he had moved out from his childhood home, and he was in a serious relationship with Hermione— _Hermione_! One of his best friends, the girl he had slowly but surely fallen for. And she was with him, here on his bed, and she loved him back, and they were going to go to France, and they were going to have sex, and they were going to be together forever, and his life was pretty much perfect at the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. And by that I mean the end of my buffer, not the end of the story… though, in all honesty, I was tempted for 0.02 seconds to actually finish the story here and be done with it. As it is, I am still planning to finish this story, no matter how overwhelming it feels to take on the task. So I ask patience and encouragement from all of you, and I shall conquer the last few chapters of this story!


	33. Remembrances and Revelations

Friday had finally come, and everyone felt the low hum resonating deep in the wizarding world, full of expectation for the Commemorative Ceremony happening that night. George and Ron had set everything up so that they could take a few hours off—George had been convinced to go by their parents, and Percy had obliged by changing his RSVP status at the Minister's office.

Ron had managed to take the next day off, as well, to have the time to take Hermione to the airport. He thought about those plans in a corner of his mind as he got ready for the party; with a quick swish of his wand, Ron executed one of the first spells he had ever learned, back when he was too young to even have a wand of his own, when his mum had to make use of it for him.

" _Agrandare_ ," he said, making the fabric across the shoulders of his fancy robes stretch, making the piece of clothing a bit wider. He would have bought a new set, but he was saving money for the trip so his old robes would have to do. They were the same that the twins had given him a few years ago, which he had also used for Bill's wedding. He seemed to have grown a bit taller since then — when would he stop?! — and his shoulders had grown a bit wider, too — he didn't mind that one, really. At least, since he had been the only owner of these robes and they hadn't been subjected to endless amounts of magic to stretch them or make them smaller, like most of his clothes, they still looked decent... or at least, decent enough for that night.

Merlin, he didn't want to admit it, but he was a bit excited about the ceremony. It was partly because of that buzz in the air, but mostly because he had realized that it was the first opportunity he had to have a decent fancy party with Hermione. Still, he couldn't let himself enjoy that idea too much, because there was a dark cloud floating above all the excitement: the fact that they were there to mourn the dead, and one of those was his brother. Way to give himself a punch in the gut, thinking about that.

He got dressed, styled his hair — knowing Hermione liked it made him want to pay more attention to it — and went on to check on George. Ron was worried about his brother, and knew he had to make a point of making sure he was doing okay. It was going to be a rough night...

* * *

 

Hermione gave herself a final check on the mirror. A hand rose to pat her hair, eyebrows furrowed in critical concentration, before deciding it was enough preening. Ron was going to be there any minute now—

"Hermione?" his voice came from the hallway outside her door, announcing his arrival.

"Come in!" she called, telling the butterflies in her stomach to quiet down. There was no reason to be nervous: this was Ron, who not only was the person that knew her best, but her _boyfriend_ and who had helped her choose the dress she was wearing. So why on _earth_ would she be eager to know his reaction?

"Hey— Merlin!" he exclaimed when he saw her. "You look unbelievable!"

Despite having berated herself not even thirty seconds prior for caring about his reaction, his open admiration made her feel too good to not bask in it. She smiled and, in a gesture she was sure would embarrass her in a few hours, she allowed herself to twirl in front of him. As soon as she was facing him again, he stepped closer and put his hands on her waist. He pulled her close and slowly bent his head to her, his lips softly pressing against her.

"Beautiful. You look beautiful," he corrected himself, as if believing that his previous choice of words wasn't accurate enough.

"You're not surprised, are you?" she asked. When he laughed, his hands still on her waist, her brain quickly connected the dots to a similar conversation they had had over a year ago. She smiled, and it was her turn to correct herself. "I mean, you had seen the dress before. You knew what I was going to wear; I even told you how I was going to do my hair and everything!"

"True, but the whole look, all together... it's different, isn't it?" he took a step back to look at her once more, his evident pleasure quickly turning into worried, furrowed eyebrows. He looked up at her again. "I don't know if I can go to the party, now. Why don't we stay home? Why don't we get out of these clothes and cuddle under the bed covers? I promise I'll take the time to admire you in that dress, and without it, and make it worth the change of plans..."

She didn't let herself be tempted, shaking her head for a negative before she found herself nodding her agreement. "I didn't spend the last two and a half hours getting ready to have you undo it all in three minutes—"

"Who said anything about three minutes? I said I would take my time with it, didn't I?"

"Ron, no. Don't. It's tempting, I won't lie," she tried again, but he kept on insisting, lowering his hands to grab her bottom through the layers of her dress.

"Just think of it," he began, and for a moment she did. She could form quite a clear picture; how they would playfully undress and touch each other, enjoying the rushing blood and the way skin tingles under soft fingertips, adoring each other in the intimacy of… being intimate and…

But she couldn’t think of it right at that moment, so she shook her head in an effort to dislodge the thought, ready to interrupt him with an argument they both needed.

"No. We can't. We have to go. This ceremony is important, and we must participate! It's not just a simple party; you know Kingsley really wants us there, and we have to honour all of those—"

This time, she interrupted herself as she saw Ron lower his eyes and press his lips in a thin line at her words. It was just an instant, but all she needed to realize what was really happening. The sorrow she felt for him cleared most of the thoughts still running in the background, at least for the moment, as she focused on him.

"Oh, Ron, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know. It's going to be tough."

Having brought up the subject now and having it in the open seemed to have given Ron permission to voice his fears. "I don't know what's going to happen, Hermione. I went home with George; he's leaving for the party with Mum and Dad. He just looked so... you know, like the pieces of him that had been fixed were about to break again. I'm afraid of what this is going to do to him and, to be honest, of what it might feel like, for me, to be there. I know it's selfish, but... I guess I thought it was worth the try..."

She sighed, full of love and compassion for him. "We both know we would have gone to the ceremony, anyway. Tell me," she said, allowing herself a small smile. "Didn't you suggest we stay because you knew I was going to say no, that we had to go?" She paused as she noticed his confirming smirk. "You knew you could trust me to push you to go, didn't you?"

His smile broadened before he kissed her once more, resting his forehead against her. "I've always known I could trust you. Let's go, now."

He took her hand, ready to Apparate them to the venue, looking down at her with eyes sparkling with his love for her. With renewed nervous butterflies, her earlier incomplete thought came back to haunt her. She needed to figure out what it was about being intimate with Ron that was begging to be solved, but promised that she would still do her best to be supportive of him— that was a priority.

* * *

 

The noise from the loud hallway still reverberated in Ron’s ears, the shock of their arrival yet to fade from behind his eyelids. They quickly found their table and he let himself fall onto his chair with a huff, hoping some of the tension he was feeling would escape his body alongside his breath. They hadn't been at the event for more than ten minutes and the evening already felt like it would be too much.

He noticed his name on a discreet card floating in front of him, the letters silver and shiny on a blue background, right above a napkin that took some sort of fancy shape. How the hell had he ended up in a place like this?

"Don't worry about the reporters, Ron," Hermione said to his side, a hand coming to rest on his thigh under the table. "Whatever they come up with, we know it's not true. And this time, we'll have plenty of witnesses! Yes, you cursed in surprise at the sight of them, but they can hardly make any news out of it, can they?"

He knew she was trying to reassure him, which was nice, but the memory of his spontaneous, ridiculous _bloody hell_ resonating in the hall lodged in his stomach like a rock.

"They could have let us know," Hermione continued next to him, angry at the situation or on his behalf he didn't know, but appreciated nonetheless. "Worse than a Muggle red carpet, if you ask me. Actors at least know what they're getting into; we had no clue!"

A few members of his family arrived to the ten-place table, sitting in front of their marked positions. Harry sat next to Hermione, and Ginny next to him. The four of them were facing the centre of the stage, their table the closest to it in the middle section of the hall. Percy sat with them as well, a few places away.

"Where did that hoard come from?" Ginny commented as she looked around the room.

"I thought there was only one newspaper in the wizarding world?" Harry added. "They can't be all from The Prophet, can they?"

"Some of them are international correspondents," Percy clarified for them from his place. "The Minister wants this party to serve many functions, and one of them is to strengthen relationships with international magical communities. There are also many wireless stations that want to broadcast what they can from the event."

Harry groaned. "Is he planning for... anyone... to have to give, you know... a surprise speech, or anything like that?"

Ron knew exactly what Harry meant. He was scared he would be put on the spot, asked to talk to everyone present. Ron wouldn't want to be in his place.

"Not at all," Percy assured him. "The evening is planned to the minute; nothing should be a surprise for anyone."

Ron looked at Harry, to see him release some nervousness through a half-hidden long breath.

"So how come you're not running around, doing whatever the other organizers are doing right now?" Ron asked, his sight lingering on Harry before moving onto his brother.

He saw Percy stiffen. "I thought I'd be with the family tonight," he explained in shortened, stiff syllables. He evidently thought Ron was implying he shouldn't be there.

Without thinking, Ron just looked back at him in all seriousness, so Percy knew Ron meant what he was saying. "Of course. I'm glad you are," he told his brother, and saw him relax into a slight smile.

"Me, too," Percy replied.

More of the family members arrived at the table. Ron’s eyes sought George, trying to discern how he was feeling. By the look of him, shoulders curved inwards and lowered gaze, he wasn’t doing all that well.

Ron lowered his gaze in turn, feeling at a loss. He wished he could save his brother from whatever he was feeling, but knew it was pointless: being present and saying a few words would never fix anything, when what needed to be fixed was so clearly impossible. How do you fix the absence of half of you?

He didn’t realise it, but his eyes had lifted again to stare at George. Ron observed him all the way until he had settled a few seats away. He noticed that George’s expression slowly shifted into a smirk, which stayed on as he finally met Ron’s eyes.

“What are you looking at? Am I missing something?”

“Yeah, you are. An ear.”

“Ron!” Molly exclaimed, an edge that clearly admonished him on the expression, but George smiled.

Ron kept on looking at George as everyone got distracted, the latter returning the look on and off. Finally, George sighed and said, low enough to not attract attention, and clearly enunciating his words so that Ron could keep track of what he was saying, “Relax. I’m okay. I’ve survived this long, I'll survive this, too.”

Ron gave George a smile and a nod. If George was talking about _surviving_ , it meant that he wanted to stay alive. That he was glad for it. Finally, after all these months, Ron felt like the worst for George was being left behind.

* * *

 

Their table was full now, all members of the family having arrived. Ron saw the flutter of people around them, all fancy clothes and hummed words. He took a better look at the hall; the walls were incredibly tall, the ceiling charmed to look like a starry night, the constellation that gave the building its name shining strong in its centre. The lighting was dim and gentle, enough to see each other without breaking the sense of intimacy that surrounded the place. It made him feel like every little detail had been paid attention to, indeed.

He reached for Hermione's hand next to him, aware of their hands as their fingers interlocked. Her skin was warm and soft, the touch comforting as lights began to dim even further. His eyes sought her face, and he found her already looking at him with her eyebrows furrowed; it was clear to him she had been concentrating hard on something. Before he could ask, her face softened into a small smile. She squeezed his hand.

"It's going to be all right," she whispered, as people around her settled at their tables, the room quieting down.

Ron's position allowed him to see the stage well. He would forever remember how the sudden beam of light lit the center podium, a straight, wide beam cast from the main star on the ceiling's constellation. The light of it was so intense that when Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared on its edge and stood right at the centre, it seemed like he had come out of nowhere. Maybe he had.

The expectation in the room was powerful. Ron sensed all eyes were on the Minister behind the podium. When Kingsley looked around the room, the intensity of his presence made it feel like he was looking at each of them. It was clear he was commanding everyone's attention, and that he was getting every ounce of it.

"Good evening, my friends. Thank you all for being here. Let me begin by stressing that this night has come to fruition thanks to the hard work of many witches and wizards, with the shared conviction that they were working towards creating the opportunity to come together as a community. We do so in the hope of appropriately celebrating those who are still with us for their valiant efforts in the war, and to mourn those who gave their lives so that we could be here tonight. For their sacrifice wouldn't be given the respect it demands if not for those who made this night possible, be it by defeating the darkest of wizards, or be it by organizing and putting together this event.

"That is why I have to take the time to thank each one of you. Especially those whose efforts, courage, and relentless desire to do good in the world kept them fighting even when it seemed that all hope was lost. Those whose constant pursuit of freedom for all made every warm-blooded witch and wizard keep on going. To a teenager that shouldn't have carried the weight of our world's continuity on his shoulders, and whose courage and sense of justice gave us just that. To his two friends, whose actions, loyalty, and support let us know our hearts were in the right place, so that we could trust that three young, brave people could save all of our lives."

"At the core, this trio. Around them, all of us. And tonight, we stand to state and affirm once more, that magic runs through all of our veins, no matter our ancestors. That those who have gone as a result of our fight, will keep us certain and true, that the wizarding world will not stand for hatred nor bigotry. To borrow a Muggle philosopher's words —and I do not do so lightly— we will be intolerant of the intolerant." A few bursts of applause erupted to the back of the room. "We shall go forth and take our recent history with us, like shields protecting our weak flesh, so that we remember what we have learned: that wizards and witches are no more nor less than any other living creature, and that we shall pay our respects to life, and those who lost it, by making sure we never allow ourselves to return to the past we have conquered."

More applause arose at that, the sound sharp and jarring, so different from the blunt rock hardening Ron’s chest. The sound quickly muted in his ears, a protective response to what seemed almost like an attack. How could they applaud, as if Kingsley's speech was a victory one? Couldn't they hear it in each word, the echo of lives lost, the pain of it?

Hermione's presence broke through the fog setting around him, gentle and bright among the sorrow. She squeezed his hand again, pulling it onto her lap so that their torsos came closer on their seats, side by side, distracting him from his trance. She leaned in and kissed his shoulder to then look into his eyes. _You're okay. We're okay. And that's good_ , they said, clearly as if she had spoken out loud.

"Thanks," he mouthed in reply, and she nodded once in acknowledgment.

"... dance of life, in the name of those gone," Kingsley was saying. Ron could zone in on the man's speech once more, now. "In their name, we come together tonight, and we live our lives in the hope we give theirs justice— for they fought so we could have this, and we acknowledge it for the gift it is."

Sparks of light caught Ron's attention. High in the building's walls, stark in the darkened hall, flowing streams of light formed words that shone like spells— Ron immediately knew, they wrote the names of those who had died resisting Voldemort.

Ron gave up fighting the crack tearing his heart with longing for his lost brother, and all those that the war had left behind.

* * *

 

Later, after a somber dinner, slow music had begun playing and couples went out to dance. Ron, still feeling gloomy, had resisted Hermione's pull to go join them. After a minute, she had leaned in to talk in his ear.

"Come on, it'll be good for you. I think that's the whole purpose of it— to help us feel a bit better."

He relented and walked with her to the dance floor, where they settled into a slow rhythm that fit the music; his hands around her waist on her lower back, her arms around his neck.

They danced in silence for a while, the sadness constricting his heart slowly giving way to a warmer, nostalgic feeling. He sighed into Hermione's temple, where he had been resting his chin.

"Thank you," he said, and squeezed her a bit for emphasis. "I feel a bit better."

"Of course, Ron. I'm glad."

They kept on swaying in their place, until eventually Hermione rested her face in the curve between his chest and his shoulder.

"I can hear your heart beat," she told him, and the awe in her voice stole a smile out of him.

"I could hear your heart when we danced at Bill's wedding, too," she continued, "but it was a lot faster back then; a lot louder."

He scoffed. "Doesn't surprise me, to be honest. I was in a panic."

"A panic?" she laughed. "What a compliment."

He pulled back to look at her face, but she didn't lift her head and he couldn't see her clearly. He rested his cheek on the crown of her head.

"You should take it as a compliment," he argued. "I had decided I wanted to tell you how I felt that night, and I was thinking that that was the perfect time for it. I just couldn't make myself do it; I was panicking I would ruin it, I was panicking about your reaction..."

"So, no happiness? No excitement? Nothing?"

He considered it a moment. "I think I was a bit excited... or maybe expectant, really. But I wasn't happy. I wouldn't be happy unless you told me you felt the same, or decided to take the initiative and save me the worry by kissing me on your own. Remember how I told you we should go for a walk?"

"Yes. I hoped it meant... you know. That something would happen."

"Me, too. But then Kingsley's Patronus came and all went to hell."

She sighed. "Well, we're together now. And to be honest, I don't know how we would have made it work through the Horcrux hunt. All that pressure, all that fear... I think it would have taken a toll on us, and even could have ruined our relationship."

"But it did, anyway. I ended up leaving and screwing us up for a while."

"Don't go there, Ron. You came back, and we got close again, and now here we are!" She lifted her head and her hands from his shoulders, and holding his face between her palms, she made him look at her. "We could spend the rest of our lives trying to imagine what would have happened if things had been different, but what for? To long for a version of our past that is already gone? To wish for a past that is nothing but flowery romance and fluff? That would have never been possible, and not only because of Voldemort and our decision to help Harry, but because of who we are as people. I honestly think we needed our past as it was to be here today as we are, and that's that."

"And that's that," he repeated before laughing. "You're amazing," he added, and then kissed her like he still wished he had all those months ago.

She settled her head back in the crook above his chest.

"Kingsley's speech was good. It balanced nicely between looking back and getting us to move forward."

"Yeah. But I don't know if everyone got that. Some were ready to start cheering. Who could think that was a good idea? What rubbish."

"I suppose those were the ones who helped win the war, but were lucky enough to not lose anybody. Sad that they will never know how thankful they should be. And now they can't empathize."

"How is that even possible? How can anybody not be aware of the loss? I don't get it."

"I know. And I've told you before, but… I'm so sorry, Ron. I wish…"

Ron kissed her temple. "It's alright. Thanks. We both know there's nothing we can do."

She squeezed him closer to her. They were quiet for a while.

"I think… I think George is better."

"You do? That's wonderful."

"Yeah. It’s a relief, really. It makes it a little better, you know, in general… and it’s easier to go away now. All we have to do is enjoy our trip, and… you know," he continued with a smile and nervous ripples in his stomach, "make the most of our plans."

She looked up and smiled, but the look in her eyes gave him pause.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"Nothing. Don't worry. I've just been thinking. It's nothing."

"You said 'nothing' twice. It's definitely something."

She scoffed. "We'll talk about it once I make up my mind, all right?"

"Promise?"

"Promise."

* * *

 

They had come home after a while, ready to get in bed and have a good rest. They had chosen to spend the night at Hermione's, and once they had gotten to the first floor they had quickly gotten ready for the night. George had gone to stay with Molly and Arthur until after Ron returned from their trip.

Hermione was now undoing her hair, taking several pins from it and leaving them on Ron's dresser, when he came into the bedroom from the toilet. He stopped and left a kiss on her shoulder on his way to the bed, putting a smile on Hermione's face.

"All ready for tomorrow?" he asked as he settled on the bed.

"I think so. I need to go over my list once more in the morning but I'm pretty sure everything I need is already packed." She ruffled her hair to loosen it out of the hairdo, then walked to the bed and lay down with her head on his shoulder, and arm across his stomach. "How are you doing?" she asked once his arm had wrapped around her shoulder.

He sighed. "I'm all right. It was a tough night, but I'm okay. Dancing with you was nice."

She smiled against his torso. "I liked that too."

"I hope that one day we go to a party that is a real celebration, with no worries, and can have some nice time together without anything to dampen it."

"That sounds lovely."

Some time passed when they were quiet, his fingers playing with strands of her hair.

"Are you nervous about the trip?" Ron asked, breaking the silence.

"A bit."

"What are you nervous about?"

"My parents, mostly."

He chuckled, the sound reverberating under her ear. "Funny, but I was going to say the same," he said.

"Ron, it's going to be fine. It will be. They're not mean. If anything, they're nervous; afraid of things. But they're smart, rational adults, and when they see us being normal and trustworthy they'll realize there is nothing to be concerned about. We just won't be doing things with magic—It's going to be okay, I'm sure of it."

He didn't say anything. She knew it was obvious to him as well as it was for her that she was trying to convince them both with her words.

"Just promise me one thing," he requested. "You'll find a way to stop me from doing anything that would make them hate me forever."

"Ron! That's not going to happen."

"Sure. Promise anyway."

"Ron."

"Hermione."

"Fine, I promise.

"Good."

They went quiet again.

"What time do we have to leave tomorrow again?" he asked.

"If we are at the airport by 12:30 we should be fine. I'll Apparate us there, then you can Apparate away when I'm gone."

"We should go to sleep soon, then, right? It's already close to 1:30. I'm sure you would want to have a good night's sleep… wouldn't you?"

She heard it in his voice, even if he didn't say the words. She looked up to him and he gave her a sweet smile before reaching down for a kiss, his eyes deeply mischievous.

"I'm guessing we're not," she countered, laughing, as they shifted around until she was on her back and Ron was leaning over her.

"Is it silly that I feel like I'm going to miss you?" he asked before he leaned down to kiss her neck.

"It'll be just a few days, Ron," she argued as she closed her eyes, enjoying the way her skin seemed to ripple under his lips. She could truly appreciate his want for one more opportunity to be together like this.

"Still," was all he said as he changed sides. A hand traveled over her belly and around her waist, his thumb caressing her in an arch.

She let her own hands move on his back, exploring the ridges of bone and muscle under his shirt. As Ron briefly went to his knees to get rid of his shirt, returning with a smile to kiss her clavicles on the way down to her chest, Hermione got distracted as a stray thought came back to her, reminding her of the question she had tried to answer through the night. If there was a time to answer it it was right now, so she promised herself she'd stay alert enough to figure out her stance on the topic. When she felt him bite on the rise of her breast, she knew it would be a difficult task, no matter the results.

* * *

 

Ron quickly got lost in the eagerness he felt when he was with Hermione like this. It felt like his mind stopped working and the rest of his body took over, pushing him to follow his need, the demand to get _more_ , to reach that taunting release that demanded to touch and be touched.

Maybe it was because Hermione would travel all the way back to Australia the next day, or because they wouldn't have any time to be intimate like this for the next several days, but he felt he needed to get as close as he could, and get as much as he could of her.

They were down to their underpants, their hands rubbing and grabbing on all exposed skin. They had only been this undressed a couple of times before, and the novelty and exhilaration of it was just as intense as the first time. His hand hovered on the outside of her thigh, only his fingertips trailing and touching, to then grip on her hip. His mouth, busy up to that moment with nibbling hers, traveled down until he could close his lips on the tip of a breast. Her resulting moan made his fervor intensify.

"Ron," she breathed, "we need to talk."

"Talk?" he repeated, confused. "Dirty, you mean?"

"No, no, I mean, _talk_. Discuss."

He rested his elbows on each side of her, putting his weight on them and wanting to shake his head to clear it. "Now?"

She grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back, rolling with him so that she was on top of him straddling him. The change distracted him even further; he lifted his hands to her waist, moving them up to hold the weight of her breasts on them.

"Ohhh," he sighed, nonsensically.

"Ron," she insisted, even as she bit her lips when his thumb started playing with her nipple. "I think there's something we should do before I leave tomorrow."

His hand froze and his eyes left her chest to focus on her eyes. Whatever it was, he knew it would require his full attention. Considering what they were in the middle of doing, his intuition spiked with a thought: Hermione wanted to talk about sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone following and still reading this story. Thanks for your patience, with an especially thankful grin to those who have left reviews or sent PMs. It's been about two years since I started writing this story and, on May 2nd, it will be one year since I started posting. I will try my hardest to post the next chapter on that date. See you then!


	34. Perfect

"I think we should… perhaps we could… do a bit more tonight." Her hands, up to that point resting some of her weight on his chest, moved down his torso to his belly. Her eyes followed her hands as she did so, but now she looked up to him again, her lips pressed in a thin, nervous line. "I want to… that is, we haven't seen each other naked yet."

His eyebrows shot up and his muscles tensed in slight surprise at her words. His hands slowly wrapped themselves around her wrists, as if to stop her from going further south. He kept his eyes locked with hers, too aware of his own rapid heartbeat to think clearly, but undoubtedly excited at her proposition.

"I take it you think… that we should, now?" he saw her nod her head in emphatic agreement. His heart beat even faster. "Is there something going on? Why now?"

"Why not?" She asked in a quivering voice.

"Don't get me wrong! It's not that I think we shouldn't . I just…" Ron shook his head, trying to gain clarity. His eyebrows furrowed into a knot this time. "What if it makes it harder to stop? It's always hard as it is."

"I know," she said, and she moved her hips in a subtle way, but clear enough that he felt it right on his member; Hermione's version of a dirty joke.

He groaned. "Hermione."

"Ron."

He still looked into her eyes, biting the inside of his lips. "Are you sure?" He asked again, wanting to have confirmation. "What if we get carried away? Then what about France?"

"I don't think we'll get carried away, but if we do… then maybe that's okay. Because I've been thinking and—" he saw the moment she made up her mind; the resolution setting in her eyes and on the corners of her mouth. She moved her hips on him again, with more certainty this time. "And, how is this not sex?"

He lost his words, his thoughts, all his grey matter evaporated and he was left blank in shock. He could do nothing but stare at her and pray she would explain more.

"We have touched each other rather intimately. We've done things together that, quite honestly, are what sex really is about. Sex is more than penetration, than you being—that is, being—inside of me."

She had struggled to finish the sentence but she had managed to get through it, brave though she was.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," he tried to begin, still feeling at a loss. "I suppose you are right, but… it's still a big deal, isn't it? We're both doing it for the first time…"

"Everything is happening for the first time. I had never been touched like this, I had never touched like this. I was nervous the first few times we did it, and now… I am not." She twisted one of her hands to wrap it around his wrist, lifting his hand up to cup her breast, its peak soft now that they had gotten distracted. "If we are already being as intimate as a couple can be, then going all the way is just another part of it, not the ultimatestep. Thinking about it this way makes me want to enjoy our intimacy more, to be in the moment and be okay with what happens... with how it happens. As long as it is with you."

Ron considered what she was saying, looking at the way she was astride him as she spoke of their intimacy. His eyes wandered over her breasts, exposed oh so casually, her thighs on each side of his hips, and nothing but two flimsy layers of fabric between the two of them. They had certainly come far already, and not once had he felt self conscious about it; he had been in the moment and enjoyed every second of it. He also knew it wasn't the same for Hermione, that she found herself having a difficult time letting go of control.

Yes, what she was saying now was true, they were already being intimate. He wasn't sure that he didn't feel like it was still a pretty big deal to take that final step—a part of him? In her? Which should feel amazing? Yes, big deal— but he also could agree with why she thought this way. They had crossed a line some time ago, and now they could be mostly bare and reach for each other as if it were a natural thing they had always done. He knew, too, another big reason for her to be thinking about it this way: it let her conquer her need for control, by convincing herself she had already conquered it by being this intimate together.

She must have thought he still was unconvinced, because she continued her argument.

"Ron," she began, before getting off him and laying down on her side. He turned to face her and she cupped his face with a hand. "All I really want is for the opportunity to try something new, something more tonight. I've been thinking about this for hours and I want to feel it too, now. We'll be apart for a couple of days and I don't want this new thought hanging in the back of my mind until we are in France. I want to let myself try this new thing with this new way of looking at it. I don't think we'll go all the way but if we do then that's fine, too. We haven't done all there is to sex but what we have done is already sex. Right?" She broke for a moment, but went on almost immediately. "What do you think?"

They held each other's eyes now. He took a deep breath, making up his mind and choosing his words. He let his hand rest on her waist and fall to the small of her back.

He finally shrugged. "If it is with you, I'll be happy, whatever happens."

"Oh, Ron," she said, before she kissed him with passion. "I love you."

"Love you, too. So much," he said, before he kissed her back, with just as much enthusiasm.

This time they didn't stop. They kissed as Ron pulled her to him, trying to get her as close as he could. She turned to lay on her back so that, in order to stay close, Ron had to follow her and be on top. He quickly moved to put the weight of his torso on his bent elbows, just as Hermione wrapped her legs around him.

"Ah, I love this." He shifted his weight again to just one of his elbows, to free a hand that he used to reach for her thigh, caressing it up and down. "How do you want to do this? We just take off our clothes or…?"

"Oh, well, maybe… we just keep on kissing and doing what we always do… and let it happen naturally, once we're more… aroused."

"All right, yeah, that sounds fine," he agreed, not really concerned with the how, now that he was thinking of the what—he was going to be seeing Hermione starkers.

"Okay, all right," she said, almost nonsensically, before he smiled and pressed his lips against hers, quickly deepening the kiss. Ron then travelled down her jaw and over the curve of her neck, nuzzling and nibbling his way to her clavicles and the hollow between them. As he continued his way down her body, she grabbed fistfuls of his hair, to slow him down or encourage him on he didn't know. He tried to lift his head to check, but when he felt her pushing his head down to the skin right on the rise of her breast, he had his answer.

He felt himself getting harder, eagerness quickening his heart at the very thought of what he would do next. Knowing how she'd react, once he used his tongue on her, maybe just the tip of it at first, just a flicker…

As he had learned to expect, she whimpered. What he didn't seem to have learned yet was how much it made him want to lose himself in her, when he heard the noises she made. Careful thought was now out of the question; he had reached the point when he needed more, just like that. He suckled on her nipple, a hand playing with the other, until the urge was too much to contain.

He pushed himself up, aligning his hips with hers and attacking her mouth with his. Their lips froze and a groan escaped out of his, as soon as he pressed his pelvis against her.

"This feels good," he mumbled. He slowly started to grind against her, quickly consumed by the sensations. "So good," he added once she began echoing him.

Moving against her like this drained his mind of any images or discrete words, and all that was left was a goal, a bullseye-like focus where there was a need for Hermione, for skin-to skin contact, and grabbing, and tasting, and reaching that elusive climax that promised it all, fulfilling all fantasies about what it could be like for him, with her.

Lost in the magnetism of having Hermione writhing beneath him, it took him a second to process the words she spoke against his ear.

"I want to see you," she whispered.

Ron didn't know his heart could beat any faster than it already was. He looked at her in the eyes, holding there for a moment.

"Now?"

"Yes."

"Oh… okay."

Biting the inside of his lips, he rolled off her and got on his back. He hooked his thumbs on the elastic of his pants but hesitated. He looked at Hermione again, nervous at what she'd think of him after all, but excited too. It was a momentous time in his life, to be vulnerable like this and sharing himself like this, with this girl he was head over heels for. He gave her a small smile and she reciprocated, turning on her side and resting her torso on a bent elbow.

Garnering his courage, Ron pulled down his underwear until it cleared his long legs and feet. He threw it to the floor beside the bed and laid back, looking at the ceiling. This time, his eyes stayed glued there.

It felt like an hour had gone by before Hermione said or did anything. Ron first saw her coming into his field of vision, her face getting closer to him; he barely had time to react and respond to the kiss she suddenly was giving him.

He let his hand tangle in her hair, his fingers curling around the nape to hold her close. He let himself drown in the kiss, forcing himself to forget about what her reaction was or could have been to his nakedness. Instead, he let himself feel the exhilaration of it, of being exposed and available, and it having encouraged Hermione to ravage his mouth.

She grabbed at one of his shoulders, just like she would have done had he been wearing a shirt. They shifted in the bed once again, so that she was laying on her back and Ron's torso was above her. She moved her hand and hooked her elbow around his neck; he bit on her lips a little harder than intended, as evidenced by her sharp inhale of breath.

"Sorry," he said even as he smiled.

She shook her head, signaling it was all right, and smiled too. He let his eyes wander around her face, paying attention to every small detail: the three freckles on her right temple, the shape of her top lip, the angle of her eyebrows. His hand traveled down from her nape, his fingertips lightly trailing on the skin around the side of her breast, the hills of her ribcage and the valley of her waist, stopping right at the edge of her knickers. He raised an eyebrow in question and, smile frozen in place, she nodded her acquiescence.

Ron got on his knees to have better leverage, hooking his index and middle fingers on the edge of her underpants. He pulled them down slowly, partially because he was self conscious and expectant, partially because he wanted to commit to memory the way more skin was exposed or the patch of dark short curls at the apex of her legs. He quickly tossed aside the bit of fabric between his fingers, and stayed on his knees admiring his girlfriend.

"So?" She asked, her face now serious.

"Unbelievable," was all he said.

"Is that good?"

"It's perfect," he replied, lying down on his side and bringing Hermione to him with a hand on her back, bringing her close for more soft, languid kissing.

He could have stayed like that forever, simply enjoying the lazy pecks and brushes of lips, but she seemed to have other ideas. She suckled on his bottom lip, before pushing him back and resting the length of her body on his. He let his hand softly touch as much skin as possible in this new position, over the groove of her lower back and the rise of her buttocks.

"This feels all right, doesn't it?" Hermione commented as she gave his jaw several small kisses. "It's not as scary as I thought. It's new, but it's…"

"It's nice," he offered, a soft, complacent smile on his face.

She rested her head on his chest and sighed.

"Yeah," she said. "It's nice."

* * *

 

Ron woke up with sudden clarity, as if he had been awake all along. He opened his eyes and looked around; it was still dark, the room illuminated by the light of the rising sun coming through the curtain openings. It wasn't much, but it was certainly enough to see Hermione's shape quite clearly next to him.

On his back, Ron turned his head to look at his sleeping girlfriend. She was on her side facing him, one hand tucked under her face, the other reaching out for his arm and resting on his bicep, fingers softly curling around it. She was covered by the sheet but he knew she was fully naked under it. He was, too. They had fallen asleep like that, never fully breaking contact. It was obvious they didn't, even when asleep. He smiled to himself at the thought.

It couldn't have been too long since they had finally dozed off, but he was fully awake. He tried to move gently to check the time, but Hermione's voice broke the silence as soon as he got a good view of her alarm clock on the side table.

"What time is it?" She asked, her voice soft.

"It's a bit past seven," he replied, turning to his side and offering his arm for a pillow. "It's still a couple of hours too early. Go back to sleep, love."

She lay her head on the offered spot, snuggling closer to him.

"You called me love again," she said. "I like it."

He still felt himself blush.

She rubbed her nose against his chest and sighed.

"You smell so nice."

It was like she was trying to make him self-conscious. "Oh, yeah? How's that?"

"I don't know," she began, her voice dreamy. She was probably still half-asleep. "I can't identify it. But I love it."

He surrounded her with both his arms, squeezing her to him.

"I'm going to miss you," he whispered as he closed his eyes and gave a sigh of his own. "It's so silly."

"Yeah, it's ridiculous, honestly. It's only going to be three days," she said, "and yet I know I'll still miss you."

"If it's this hard now, how hard is it going to be in September?" Ron asked, his voice raspy, either because of the early hours or the emotion, he didn't know.

It took Hermione a while to answer. Ron thought for a moment that perhaps she had fallen asleep, but when she spoke it was clear she was fully awake now, too. "I feel foolish feeling like this over three days—while, at the same time, I don't really care that I feel that way. September… that's such a different thing to this. Ron… I really… I don't want to be apart from you! We have barely been apart at all during the past few years, never more than a few short weeks, and I really don't... and I… and I…"

The more Hermione talked, the more it was clear to him that she was about to cry. He didn't want her to cry; he didn't want her to be miserable and to have a memory of this night full of sadness and distress. He didn't want that for himself, either.

"No, no, Hermione," he interrupted her, giving her a quick but intense peck on the lips. "Don't think about that. Let's pretend all we have to worry about is the next three days. We'll survive that, we'll survive everything. I love you. In the big scheme of things, three days are nothing. When you are in school, we'll see each other a few hours each month. That means we only need to survive ten times three days and we'll see each other again. Ten times three. We can do that."

"Oh, Ron!" she exclaimed, before grabbing his face with both her hands and pulling him for a kiss. "I love you. Nothing will ever get in the way of that."

"Nothing," he agreed between more kisses, "Nothing can."

Their kiss was immediately deep, immediately heated. There it was again, that need, just like that. He needed her, and this time it wasn't only the pull low in his belly, but a pull from the heart as well… he needed her everything, her love and her kiss and her touch, just as much as he wanted to give it to her. He needed her with him, around him, letting her presence soak into his cells, so that no distance would ever get her out of his system.

It seemed like they were moving in sync. He pushed her to lay on her back or she pulled him to be on top of her, he didn't know, but he found himself resting his weight on his right elbow as his left hand cupped her breast beneath him. As the fingers on that hand found a peak and played with it, he tore his mouth away from hers to nibble on her earlobe and down her neck. Her hands, up to then swimming in his hair, moved so that one of her arms hooked him in place with an elbow around his neck, the other grabbing the skin and muscle between his shoulder blades.

If he felt like his heart was about to burst in his chest at that, when he felt her wrapping her legs around him, he was sure he would die. It was shocking to feel himself in such direct contact with her, his erection rubbing right against her core as he fought to find his balance in the changing position. He tried to pull himself back a bit by retreating onto his knees, but the need was more powerful: he went back and ground himself against her again.

"Oh," she whimpered.

"Fuck," he said.

He fought Hermione's arm around his neck to be able to look in her eyes, to check she was okay with this. The room was still slightly shadowed, but even in the dim light he could see the wonder and eagerness he felt reflected there.

Reassured, he slowly let himself continue the same movement. He closed his eyes, lost in the feeling that was pooling and knotting deep in his core. He let his forehead fall to hers, unaware of the noises he was making, enthralled as he was with the sounds coming from Hermione's mouth. If he didn't stop soon, he might not stop at all.

"I hate to say this, but maybe we should..." he began, interrupting himself only when a wave of pleasure rippled through his back, causing a throaty groan.

"I hate nothing of this," she said. "I… oh, I… like this."

He tried to chuckle, but his vocal expressions were just as compromised.

The feeling of wanting only grew, erasing any words from his mind. He picked up the pace, a faint intuition spurring him on, the knowledge that what they were doing was close to the real thing… he was close to dizzy with madness.

"Yes, Ron," Hermione groaned against his ear, the soft breath of it tickling on the sensitive skin. There was a change to Ron's rhythm at that, shocked and giddy that she might be enjoying this just as much as he was. This minor hiccup was enough to make the tip of his member slide a little lower, teasing something else, something that Ron guessed was her entrance.

"Oh!" she cried out, tensing up under him.

"Holy shit," he exclaimed, echoing her surprise. He froze for a moment, before retreating and rolling off her in a jumble of limbs. "I'm sorry, I didn't… I don't..."

He let himself fall to his back, chest rising and falling quickly. He hadn't meant to push her. He had been barmy with need and his reaction had been automatic. He would never attempt to casually thrust into her! He knew he hadn't, but he had been close as a result of her voice tickling his ear—too close. Ron managed to lift a hand to rub his face, hoping his half-uttered apology had been heard... he needed to apologise again.

He didn't have the time to try. The hand on his face came off very quickly once he felt Hermione straddling his hips. The _I'm sorry_ died in his lips.

"Well, I do," she said simply as if answering his previous incomplete apology, looking down at him.

"What are you doing?" he asked as he sat up.

"I want this, now. I'm ready. Are you?"

He put his hands around her back, holding her in place. "Are you sure?"

"I am."

"I thought you wanted it to happen in France… that that would be a perfect memory."

She lifted a hand to his face, kissing him softly.

"It already is," she said, lifting herself as if she were ready to take him in. "I don't need France, as long as I have you."

His heart skipped a beat. His hands fell to her waist, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to stop her or guide her.

"Hermione," he started, but didn't know what to say. All he could think of was, "I love you."

She was biting her lips but still managed to give him a smile. "I love you, too."

"Merlin, it's happening, isn't it?"

She nodded, biting her lips again. She tried to position herself above him, her hands resting on his shoulders, but the only result was that she teased his cock again. He groaned.

"I don't know how… what's the best…"

"Let me," he said, reaching under her to hold his erection firm in place with his hand. "Maybe…"

She nodded her understanding, moving once more to try to find the right positioning. After a couple of false tries, the feeling changed and there was a different quality of it; again it felt like her flesh had opened to him.

"Oh!" she whimpered once more, just as he broke down to cursing again.

"Oh, shit!"

She stayed like that for a small moment, lifting her eyes to look at him. He looked back at her, feeling the small smile breaking on his face. The light had shifted long ago; sunrise was now almost complete. He nodded to her in encouragement.

She lowered herself to him until the head was pushing against warm flesh. She again stopped, her breath ragged and strong focus in her eyes. She grabbed his shoulders harder.

"Okay?" He asked. She didn't reply but nodded. She lowered herself further and he almost fainted in pleasure. A strangled noise came out of him.

He took his hand away and grabbed the flesh of her thigh, trying to command his body to calm down. He was reeling and, as soon as Hermione lowered herself completely around him with a small cry, he had to groan to release some of the inescapable pressure rising within him.

In a corner of his mind, he was aware that she was digging her nails on his skin. Even in the slight pain of it, he was going mad with the need to thrust into her, ready to lose himself in her. But he didn't move, as much as it cost him, because the pain was a reminder of what he thought she might be going through. Her own pain. As long as he didn't move; as long as he let her control what they were doing, he could tell himself they were fine. Even if the tension around his balls would surely drive him insane, he just kept looking into Hermione's eyes, encouraging her to do as she needed.

Her eyebrows, up to then knotted, relaxed slightly. As if answering an unvoiced question, she gave him the smallest of nods once more and lifted herself up around him. A smothered sob tore through her lips.

"Merlin's—Mercy," he groaned, the warmth and wetness of her body cooling down as part of his shaft came in contact with air. It all enveloped him again as she came down to him once more. "Fuck!"

Hermione was uttering no words, but her eyes wavered and her throat seemed hoarse with her effortful breathing. It was a strain for Ron to keep his eyes open, but if she could, he would.

Again she moved, this time with more ease. Her hands moved from his shoulders to his neck, as if levering herself up by it. Another rise and fall of her body against him, and again. Her head fell back a bit even though her eyes remained locked with his; he lifted a hand to squeeze a breast. The movement, the cycle of it began again, twice more. He used his thumb to rub her nipple and, this time, the moan that arose from her vocal cords was of distinct pleasure.

"Hermione!" he grunted, the tension in him springing loose in one instant of such pure euphoria; a feeling so different than what he had experienced before, that his mind and body and all senses seemed to freeze and become alight at once with the ecstasy of it. Two, three seconds and, as she started to move again, he desperately grabbed her waist to stop her. "No, no," he begged. "Stay still."

She did. As the moment stretched up to a minute, her face finally relaxed and a smile appeared on her face. Even through his still-hazy mind, his still-twitching body, he recognized the signs around her lips: she was trying hard not to laugh. Then his own smile mirrored hers. It was just an instant before they were both holding each other close, softly laughing together.

It was only a couple of minutes since Ron had implored her to stop. The joy of having been with him like this, of having witnessed the pleasure on his face, erupting from her as mirth. Perhaps he felt just as exultant as she did, for he laughed with her.

"Why did you stop me?" she softly asked, letting her fingers thread through his hair.

He looked sheepish. "Well, it… it hurt, once I—finished."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "Is it okay if I… get… off?"

"Yeah, I think, yeah."

Slowly, she lifted herself once more, this time coming off him and moving to the side of him. She laid back in bed and lifted her hands over her head, her mind placidly blank. He laid down next to her, on his side, resting his hand on her lower belly.

"Are you okay?" His voice broke the silence. "I know that… I believe that it hurts for you, the first time."

Hermione took a moment to think about it. She could feel a burning sensation; at least a gentler version of what it had been like to take him in at the start of it. But she had been aroused, ready for it. It had hurt a bit; it had taken a moment to get used to the fullness and stretched-out feeling and it never completely went away, but it lessened enough that she had begun to enjoy it. All of that was nothing, though, compared to the sense of… power… and accomplishment… she felt at the moment.

"I'm all right. I'm… happy," she described for him, turning her head to the side to look at him, a small smile on her face.

He gave her a bright smile. An eyebrow rose and she knew a joke would follow. "Wow, I'm good," he said.

She scoffed but accepted the kiss he gave her. He cupped her face and looked into her eyes adoringly.

"You're amazing," he added, and she knew this time he meant it.

After a few more idle, loving kisses, a sudden jarring sound interrupted them: the alarm clock went off. Hermione reached to silence it.

"Do you really have to go?" He asked her.

She knew he wasn't being serious, so she simply gave him another peck. "Yes. I need to take a shower and finish up my packing."

"Do you need help, you know… showering?"

She laughed. "Actually, I was hoping you'd make me breakfast?"

He mocked disappointment. "Oh, well. I suppose I can do that. We'll leave the showering together for another time."

She nodded and smiled, but he stopped her when she tried to leave the bed.

"Hey, one more thing."

"Yeah?"

"I'm happy, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it! I finished this momentous chapter in time to post it on May 2nd :) It's been one year exactly since I started posting this story, and approximately two years since I started writing it. It's taken much of my free time, lots of problem solving and plot evaluation and planning. It's the size of approx. two average-sized novels already (I'm told) and there's still a bit of it to be written. I will finish it. But today, I celebrate all I've done.
> 
> Thanks SO much to Jenahid, who is an amazing friend and such a knowledgeable beta. Also to Otteranterrier, who was the first to hear about this idea and whose interpretation of canon is non-par, and Honouraryweasly12 for indulging me with plot discussions and such! Finally, happy birthday, Wildegreenlight!
> 
> Of course, thanks so much to all of those reading, following, and favoriting. Especial thanks to those who've sent words of support and encouragement, and to those who've squeed or cried in all the appropriate places or told me they binge-read the entirety of it.


	35. Ironic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I TOLD YOU I WOULDN'T ABANDON THIS STORY. More notes at the end.

As exhausted as she was after spending many hours in a flying tin can, Hermione still was glad for the long flight. Her lower back hurt from sitting for so long and her limbs felt stiff, but she had had the time to think deeply about the previous night. That worked for her. It was all she had wanted to do, anyway.

Her plane touched the ground in Melbourne with a rumble on contact, then taxied to the bridge. People around her began collecting their things, preparing to run to customs in the hopes they wouldn't get stuck in the queue. Hermione took her time, getting her carry-on and walking out only when most people were gone. She knew that, as soon as she found her parents, she would have to leave thoughts of Ron momentarily behind.

She made her way to customs, her mind back on her boyfriend, what they had done before she came to Australia, and her thoughts during the flight.

It had all begun when Hermione, right before the party, had realised that what she and Ron had been doing was  _already_ sex. It was silly, really, that it had taken her so long to recognize it. Once she did, it was like all the puzzle pieces had suddenly fallen into place: no need to plan, no need to be nervous, and no need for control... she could let herself be with him in any way they wanted to, because she had  _already_ overcome her worries. She smiled softly and pushed her carry-on forward, as the curling line at the customs check-in moved ahead.

Beyond all the little things she had been nervous about, her fear of losing control had been the biggest roadblock on their way to intimacy. She suspected that, at some level, the fear of losing control with Ron was rooted in the PTSD; losing control could lead to an attack, and she couldn't have that. If that was the case, she realised it didn't make sense to connect the two… but nothing made sense around her PTSD issues, so it would never be as simple as knowing that it was ridiculous and choosing to not be scared.

As a result, fear had held her back, intensified her anxiety, at times even disconnected her from what they had been doing. But when those fears had somehow been absent, she had been able to float in pleasure and delight at being with him that way. She had felt the love for him go beyond knowing it in her mind and in her heart; she had felt it in her body, every cell resonating with the strength of it. In those moments, free of burdens, they had done everything but that one thing. They had done so much since they shared that first (second) kiss on the patio behind her home! And it hadn't felt incomplete; it had been sexual and sensual and intimate, truncated only because they had an agreement and because, frankly, society had said penetration was a Big Step. A different step. But it wasn't; not really. It was just another option, another way of being sensual with each other, but it had been built up like a goal or a barrier or an ultimate end, even more than release in itself. How silly was that? How had she not seen it earlier? Just because that was the message she received growing up, it didn't make it real. It wasn't true to her, anymore, in any case.

Sex was the intention of sensual intimacy. It was the desire to be open and vulnerable and connected and physical and emotional and giving and receiving, with pleasure as the result. Whether it included penetration or not ended up being inconsequential. So why would she fear it? Why would she stop herself from it?

Yeah, maybe it wasn't the perfect romantic memory people say you want for the first time you do that one thing. There had been no candles, no earth-shattering climax, but she wouldn't regret it. She didn't want to regret it, and she just didn't. How could she regret the determination she had felt? The excitement and connection and  _freedom_  of knowing she had wanted it? There had been no fear, no shame... only the want for him and for them to take that step right then. That was the irony of it, really. By relinquishing the idea of perfection, of needing to be in control, she had chosen how and when to have it happen... which was, in fact, being in control. Distractedly, she found her passport and the declaration forms she had completed in the plane, ready to present them at the window. There were only four people ahead of her now.

She relished the opportunity to go back to her thoughts of Ron.

As unprepared and unstaged as their coming together was, it had been lovely for her. Ron had seemed both eager and nervous, incapable of hiding his wonder and joy. Seeing him react like that had given her the confidence to do as she wanted, to take the lead and have that moment together, right then. The room had disappeared; her worries and the plan to have it happen in France flew out of her mind. It had been all about her and Ron, coming together. It had been special not because of where they were, but because they could allow themselves to follow the impulse that brought them together.

Thinking about it, letting herself be lost in the memory, filled her belly with butterflies and put a big-yet-shy smile on her face. How could it not be the right thing when it filled her with such joy?

It was her turn to walk to the customs window. She offered her passport and answered the official's questions, letting the interaction dilute her thoughts. She walked to the door behind which her parents would be waiting, putting away her feelings and recollections for the next time she could be alone. She quickly collected her suitcase and walked through the arrivals door. Even as she found her parents and hugged them close, Ron's presence in her heart never fully left her.

* * *

 

Ron knew he would miss Hermione, but he hadn't expected to feel this level of emptiness.

After dropping off Hermione at the airport — a time full of hugs and soft, simple kisses — he had attempted to go to work to distract himself. But anytime he lifted his gaze, he half-expected to see her at the cash register, or placing more products on the fast-emptying shelves. Not seeing her around was like a Quidditch game with one less beater: things would probably be all right, but it was wrong and unnecessarily damaging to the team.

He thought he was hiding it well. He kept on working as usual, trying to ignore the nagging voice in his mind saying  _she's not here, she's not close;_  or, even more distressing, the one saying  _September first is going to be just like this, but worse._ No matter how he tried, though, the voice kept worming its way into his brain. Even though he could still work and be productive, he was still hyperaware of the fact he could not simply get up and get a peek at her.

He was thankful that Harry and Ginny invited him for a late lunch that Sunday. They were, of course, great company to him... even when they burst his bubble and made him realize he wasn't showing the calm and collected face to the world like he thought he'd been.

"The one that stays behind always has the worst of it," Ginny said out of the blue. "Everything remains the same, and it's like the world is trying to tell you things are okay and stable, when for you they are so clearly different."

Ron stared at her, surprised that she had been able to recognise something he thought no one else ever felt; he thought he was strange for feeling this way, and here was Ginny, putting the feeling into words that felt rather appropriate.

She seemed to notice his shock and shrugged. "That's what it was like when the three of you left to hunt Voldemort."

"You have kind of a lost look to you, mate," Harry added.

It did not help his feelings to know he was so transparent.

Later that day, at his parents house, he thought that there were at least two other layers to what he was feeling. Sitting on the sofa with Crookshanks curled next to him —he had brought the pet to the Burrow for the week—, he realised that part of it was that he was worried for her. She had been dealing with so much in the past few months... would she be able to handle it on her own, if she had another panic attack? What if the remaining stress in her relationship with her parents made it harder for her? He wanted to be there for her, and he couldn't do that when she wasn't near him. Of course, this had been part of her own worries with going to Hogwarts; in a way, this was a three-day trial on her ability to manage by herself. If he could encourage her to trust herself back at school he had to be willing to trust her now. So he needed to get a grip on himself and show her he knew she could do it, there was no way around it.

The other layer was a bit more selfish. They had crossed that one final line earlier that morning and, to be honest, he wanted a lot more of it. He wanted to explore it all with her, try the same and more and less and in different ways. He wanted to ask why she had changed her mind. Tell her he wasn't sure he had understood what she meant by it not being that big of a deal but how, at the same time, he thought he  _got_  it: they had been having sex for a while, that he agreed they had crossed the actual line between not-sex and sex at some point in the past few weeks. And that, yeah, what they had done that morning was amazing and wonderful and special, but it wasn't what defined what intimacy was for them. Only they got to define what sex was for them, and they had. And it had been brilliant. And he wanted more of it, if she wanted it too. Which made her closeness kind of necessary, really...

"Dinner is ready!" came his mum's voice from the kitchen, interrupting the fast chain of images developing in his mind, all of which included Hermione in different degrees of undress. He couldn't think of her like this right now, surrounded by family. He'd wait until he was in his bed, alone in the flat, to remember the face she had made and that had caused him to explode in her. And what a feeling that had been! It was amazing to think that perhaps she had begun to enjoy it as much as he had. It made him want to make sure he learned exactly how to—

He let out a chuckle as he noticed he had thought of Hermione as soon as he had decided to wait to think of her. His brain had circled back to her within a second. After so many years of this occurring, he wasn't surprised anymore. But he  _wasn't_  going to revisit his memories of the previous night again while he ate with his family, no way.

Ron, his dad, his mum, George, Percy, Harry, and Ginny settled down around the table. They soon had started eating and, after some casual conversation, his dad directed his attention to Ron.

"Did Hermione make it to Australia all right, son?"

"She's still on her way," he replied, trying to sound casual. "It takes almost a full day to go there the Muggle way."

"Really?" he said, a mixture of surprise and interest in his voice. "Air-planes are very slow, then?"

"Compared to what magic can do, yeah," Ron continued. "I am supposed to be at her house tomorrow around three in the afternoon; she'll call me on the telephone so that we can talk. I'll know how the flight was then."

Ron's mum gave a deep sigh. "I can't imagine being so far from my children. Must be so tough!"

"Charlie lives in  _Romania,_ Mum," George casually interjected. Ron snorted. "Bill used to live in  _Egypt_."

"Hermione is an only child! And like your brother said, we have magic to help us. No need to be so  _clever_ , really," she said, annoyed. "Anyway," she continued, as if nothing had happened. "Make sure to invite them for dinner once they return to England. I can't believe we barely know them, after all these years."

Ron considered for a moment, but decided honesty was the best policy right now. He didn't want his mum to have false expectations.

"I don't think they would be too thrilled to come here to The Burrow, Mum," he began, but noticed his mum's shock and outrage and questions painted on her face, and kept on explaining before she could interrupt. "No, it's nothing against us. They don't have a problem with us, really! Or at least, I don't think so. But they don't like... I mean, they are not... fond of magic, now, if you want to know."

With sharp clarity, he noticed how everyone at the dinner table had gone quiet and was now paying attention to him.

"That's irony for you, considering what we fought for in the war," George said. "We were protecting all Muggles from a few entitled wizards but all magical folk are scary to them, after all, no distinctions."

"George!" Molly admonished him, but Ron caught Ginny and Harry suppressing a smile.

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, bringing the conversation back to Ron.

"It's not  _us_. They are just a bit afraid of what magic can do. Hermione says they are scared because they don't understand it."

"That makes sense, doesn't it?" his dad said.

"And that is why we fought to protect them," his mum added, "because they can't understand it, and there is nothing they can do to change that."

"Hey, I didn't say we shouldn't have fought for what we did," George argued, "just that it's ironic, isn't it?"

"In any case," Molly continued, ignoring George, "it doesn't surprise me. They must have been terrified,  _horrified_ , to think of their daughter fighting a war they couldn't fight in. To wonder if she was alive, if she was doing well, from so far away."

This time, Ron chose not to explain that they couldn't have worried, because they hadn't known they had a daughter. Instead, he shovelled a big lump of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

"They seemed so nervous, too, when we first met them in Diagon Alley, remember, dear?" Arthur asked his wife. "It can only have gotten worse over the years, as Voldemort's rise to power got more and more evident. We shouldn't blame them for their fear, kids."

"We don't, certainly!" Percy exclaimed. "We should actually try to show them it is not magic that is scary, but how people use it. Show them we would never use it against them."

"That sounds wonderful, Percy. More of a reason to have them over for dinner!" Molly exclaimed, a determined look on her face. "We need to make them feel welcome and comfortable. They are going to be a part of this family for a long time; I wouldn't want them to be scared of us!"

As much as Ron appreciated her sentiment, what really got to him was that she seemed so sure Hermione would stay in their lives for a long time. It was reassuring to think they were on board with his own plans: to have Hermione in his life forever.

After they arrived to her parents' house in Melbourne on Monday evening, Hermione and her parents had had dinner; then she took a quick shower. She was absolutely exhausted, but had to stay awake to talk to Ron over the phone in a couple of hours.

She went downstairs and looked for her parents. She found them on the small patio at the back of the house, wearing sweaters and warming up their fingers around steaming cups. They saw her and, with a gesture of their hands, invited her out. She motioned her message back, to let them know she would grab a sweater and tea for herself, and went back into the kitchen to make her drink... and barely stopped herself from using her wand to warm up the water.

Was she allowed to use magic at all while visiting her parents? She knew they would probably want her to avoid it... but they couldn't see her right now as she stood in the kitchen by herself, and wouldn't know she had made her tea with the help of a spell...

She hesitated. How strict did she have to be about this? Was there a compromise she could find? At the end, she set the water to boil in the kettle, but used a summoning charm to get a sweater to wear out. It was a fair arrangement, wasn't it?

A few minutes later, she sat down next to them in the small patio table.

"How was the shower?" her dad asked.

"Warm and relaxing," she replied with a smile. "I almost fell asleep under the spray of water, right there on my feet."

Her mum patted her arm consolingly. "The time difference is the biggest problem with traveling this far. It takes a bit of time to adjust! But you'll have a good night sleep tonight and you will be all right for tomorrow." Her mum nodded for emphasis. "So, how was the ceremony you told us about over the phone?"

"Emotional," Hermione replied, taking a sip of her drink. "The new Minister's speech was touching, and there was a memorial for the victims of the war. And, of course... because Ron's brother passed away during the big battle, his whole family was grieving, too."

"Are they doing better, though?" her mum asked. "I remember you told us that they are."

"Yes, they are, but they're still hurting. They are a loving family and they sacrificed a lot to protect those who were in danger. They are purebloods, so if they had only stood aside they would have been perfectly fine. But they chose to fight for people like you and me, and they lost someone they loved as a result. I think... I think it all adds up to a long grieving."

"Of course," her mum said. "Sounds like your Ron comes from a great family; I hope we get to know them better once we return to England."

"I hope so too," Hermione agreed, pretending like she didn't know she was blushing at hearing  _your Ron_.

"Is he nervous about coming here?" her dad asked with an amused smirk on his face.

"Dad..." Hermione began in a cautious voice. "Please be nice to him."

He laughed. "I promise I will! We will be nice to him."

"Is he making you happy, dear?"

"The happiest, Mum," she replied, hoping her mum saw the joy Hermione felt in sharing those words.

The soft smile in her mum's face told her she did.

* * *

 

Although Ron had originally planned to go back to the flat to sleep, he had ended up staying at his parents'. He had had trouble falling asleep; his bed felt far too small and empty. Harry had moved to Bill and Charlie's room, so Ron had been alone and thinking way too much about things.

He got up the next morning and, after taking a quick shower, had gone to the kitchen for a wonderful Mum-made breakfast.

They were alone; he suspected his dad and Percy had left for the Ministry already. She had a plate ready for him; it took him less than ten minutes to shovel every last piece of food into his mouth.

"Goodness, Ron," his mum commented as he added another three sausages to his plate. "Are you eating enough at the flat? You should really make sure you're eating enough."

"I am," he said through a mouthful. "Nothing compares to the food you make, though, mum."

"Och," she replied, dismissive, but he heard the pleasure she felt hidden in it. She turned around and busied herself with more cooking.

After he was done with the extra food, he reached for his tea and that morning's Prophet.

"Dear," she began, and something in her voice made him stop what he was doing and pay attention to her. "I know I don't always say this, but I was just thinking of that time we talked over by my plants, a few days after the Battle. I told you how proud I was of you, remember?"

Ron's throat immediately closed into a knot; he could feel his eyes going round in expectation. "Yeah," he croaked out.

"I can't help but marvel at the man you've grown up to be, Ron." She was facing away, busy at the stove, but he clearly saw her shaking her head in what he assumed to be astonishment.

"You've matured so much. You would have never given me a compliment so easily when you were fourteen, but here you are, just a few years older and already such a fine young man." Her voice had thinned with each word, the sounds coming out constricted.

"Mum..." he tried, but had no words.

Again she shook her head. "Don't mind me. Time and war has made you into a man, but it has made me into a sentimental old woman."

His heart softening at her self-deprecating words, he impulsively got up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Then, without a word, he turned away and left for work.

* * *

 

Ron sat at his desk, leisurely reading another copy of the newspaper. The Prophet had a special report on Saturday's ceremony, and he couldn't help but curiously stare at the way it was being portrayed to the magical community: like a night of glamour and fame and power. He wasn't all that surprised, really, that they had completely missed the point.

"Hey," Ginny greeted as she came into the office.

"Hey, Gin. Did you see this?" he asked, indicating the full display of photographs and their commentary. "What in hell...?"

She shook her head and flicked her hand in derision. "It doesn't really surprise you, does it?"

"Well, no," he agreed, "but I had hope, I guess. Mental, to be sure."

"A fool's hope, certainly," she teased him, and he rolled his eyes in response. "Anyway," she continued, "I don't know if, in the middle of missing your girlfriend, you remembered tomorrow is your favourite sister's birthday."

Ron had gone back to perusing the photographs, catching the many glimpses at different people, and the many versions of it with the four of them together, or Harry and Ginny, or with him and Hermione. He didn't lift his eyes from a picture of him and Hermione dancing together, only acknowledging Ginny's remark with a "Uh-hm."

"Besides the fabulous gift I'm sure you have carefully and generously chosen for me, I want to take off work early. Harry is taking me somewhere as a gift, before the dinner we have at home with the family."

Still without looking at her, he questioned the wisdom of it. "Do I want to allow for my mate to take my sister into an unknown private situation like that?"

"I don't think you have the moral grounds to stop us,  _mon cher frère_."

Ron finally cracked and laughed. "Alright. Just please don't share any details I don't need to know about."

"Deal. I also think it'll be good to check on how the team here does without me and Hermione; we're typically working on the floor, so the others can always count on one of us to help. We will be leaving soon to Hogwarts and they won't have us anymore. It's good practise I think."

"Yeah."

"Are you hiring new people, then?"

"Yeah, I'm doing interviews today, tomorrow, and the day after. Hopefully I'll find someone before I go on holid— what the fuck?!"

"What? What?" Ginny asked, tensing in her chair, clearly shocked at his sudden outburst.

Ron had been in the process of checking for the small ad asking for new applicants to the store they had payed for, when his eye had caught a small commentary related to him and Hermione. He read it once more, feeling the surging rage building in his chest and throat. He read the note to Ginny through clenched teeth.

" _Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger shared a romantic dance during Saturday's ceremony (go to page 3 for the pictures of the endearing moment)—_ " Ron huffed— " _but after being seen on Sunday in Muggle London, the youngest owner of the famous wizard trick shop has been seen alone. Harry Potter and his girlfriend were seen trying to console the young Weasley entrepreneur. Is this a sign of trouble in paradise?_ "

"But that is ridiculous! I just don't understand who thinks that kind of thing is news worthy of being printed at all. They got most of it wrong. And I don't even get a name!"

* * *

 

After leisurely conversation during tea, time during which they talked about nothing and everything, Hermione's parents retired to their bedroom, giving her privacy to call Ron. She really, really wanted to hear his voice.

She made herself a calming chamomile tea and sat down next to the phone, her heart beating fast. She didn't stop to question the silliness of her excitement.

He answered after the first ring. "Hello?" his voice came through the line, a little too soft. He was overcompensating for his past phonecall mistakes, and knowing that made her smile.

"Hi, Ron."

"Hermione," he sighed her name, relief evident. Her stomach went amok with butterflies. "I'm glad to hear your voice."

"Me too," she said, responding in the same low volume he was using. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine he was close to her, and they were speaking softly to each other, cuddling on the sofa.

"How are you? How's everything with your parents?"

"Everything is fine, I'm just tired. I haven't slept more than an hour here and there, since yesterday morning."

"Yeah," he said, and she was sure he was thinking the same she was. Sunday morning, both of them in her bedroom. She felt herself blush.

"Are you alone?" he asked.

"Yes. My parents went to sleep."

Silence filled the kilometres between them. She opened her mouth to say something but Ron managed to speak first.

"I have the marks of your nails on my shoulders," he said.

She bit her lips in mortification. "Sorry..."

"I'm not complaining," he assured her, and she knew he was smiling even if she couldn't see him. "Are you doing ok... you know, that way?"

"Yeah, of course. Don't worry, Ron."

"Can't help it. It was unexpected... amazing, but unexpected. I wouldn't want you to regret it."

"I couldn't..." It was her turn to assure him.

"Maybe... maybe we shouldn't talk much about it right now. We're so far apart, and your parents are right there..."

"Yes, good idea. How was your day?"

"Overall, it was alright. Just one thing. The Prophet..."

She growled. "Oh no. What did they say this time?"

"They implied we are having problems in our relationship."

"What?!"

"I know, ridiculous. They had this nice picture of us dancing, but then suggested we might not be as happy as it seems. Bollocks, obviously. But it makes me... I just... hell, do people expect us to fail?" he asked, outrage evident on his voice.

"If they do, they're wrong," she said with conviction rooted deep within her guts. "They don't know us. Don't listen to them."

"You don't think we're giving off the wrong signals, somehow? Because I don't and, if we do, I couldn't care less. I know how I feel and I think I know how you feel, and that's what matters."

It was clear to Hermione that he had been thinking about this for a while and she had to admit she liked his conclusion. She could only agree.

"Absolutely not! We're not giving off wrong signals. This is not about us, this is about them looking for a juicy scandal where there's none. They just want to sell more newspapers, Ron, and we're an easy target."

"Because we bicker and so many people know of our rocky beginnings, you mean?"

She laughed. "I thought we had agreed it was all pent up romantic tension. But no, I think we are an easy target because people still think of us and want to know about us after the war. And we're young, and we bicker."

"We bicker as a result of a mutual enjoyment of intellectual discussion," he intoned in an overly formal tone. "I don't care if not everyone gets that, though. It works for us."

Silence crept up again, but there was no tension in it.

"I see a future for us," she finally added. "I'm sure of it. I don't need anyone else to see it but me and you."

"Same," he agreed.

She sighed, settling down into the sofa, resting her head on the soft pillows.

"So tell me," she asked, "what are your plans for the next couple of days?"

She closed her eyes, enjoying the easy conversation. "My parents have to teach class tomorrow, so I'm going with them and I'll explore the college; my parents said they have a good library. The next day, in the afternoon, my mum wants to take me out. I think we might go shopping and for ice cream, something like that. What about you?"

"I need to prep the shop for the trip. I had a couple of interviews today and I have four more tomorrow. Then, at night, it's Ginny's birthday party."

"Yes! Remember to say hi from me. And you give her our gift."

"Yes, yes. You think I'd forget?"

"Not really. Perhaps you would have, three years ago, but not now."

"C'mon, have I really changed that much? I had a very shocking talk with my mum this morning, when she mentioned I had  _matured._ "

His annoyance made her laugh. "But you have! What's the problem with that?"

"I don't know. I suppose it reminds me how much of a git I've been at times."

"It all made you who you are today, and I happen to love who you are today. Actually, if I'm honest, I loved you even when you were a git."

It was his turn to laugh.

"Besides," she continued, "it's not like I haven't been immature myself. Remember those birds I set on you?"

This time, he half-laughed, half-scoffed. "Remember them? I still have their marks on my arms, among the scars I got from the brains."

"Did I ever say I'm sorry for that?" her question was honest, and it came out softly as a result.

"I don't think so, but I honestly don't care. We're here now."

"Exactly my point," she whispered again.

Yet again, comfortable silence filled up the phone handset.

"I can hear you falling asleep over the phone, Hermione," Ron commented in an amused-yet-longing voice. "Go rest."

"All right," she said, feeling like his voice could put her right down to sleep.

"I'm happy I got to talk to you tonight."

"Me, too. I'm ready to see you again."

"Yeah. I'm ready, too."

"Bring me a copy of today's Prophet, all right? I want to see that picture of us dancing."

When she closed her eyes to sleep only a few minutes later, she could still hear his voice. She soon lost awareness as she fell asleep, easily imagining that there was no distance between them.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooooooooooooooooooo readers! Have you noticed it's been a bit over five months since I last updated? No? Yeah? Well, I have. Let me explain what's been going on.   
> When I posted the last chapter I had expectations about the readers' reaction. That was my fault, I guess. I thought it was a big chapter—I mean, they had sex!—, and it was the anniversary of one year posting this story, two years working on it. I had hurried to post on May 2nd, because I thought it was a big deal........ and I only got fout reviews for it (it got a bit better with time as I got a few more over the past few months, plus three binge readers that left me several reviews that made. my. month). FOUR REVIEWS. For all that work.   
> Listen. Saying the above may make some of you think I'm just an entitled, whiny writer. A brat who expects too much or something even worse. In all honesty, I think leaving reviews is just a nice thing to do; the only payment for someone who is spending their free time doing something for you to enjoy for free. If I don't get reviews, I assume people (a) don't care about this story, and/or (b) people think the story is not worth the two minutes it takes to write something to the author (aka, it's a bad story). Those thoughts take the joy and interest in writing the story right away from me. I.e., I was disappointed that people didn't seem to care for what I had written so it took a long time for me to find the inspiration to continue.   
> I don't only write for my own enjoyment. If I did, I wouldn't be publicly sharing it.   
> It's taken me 2.5 years so far to write these 35 chapters. I do have a loyal readers and reviewers that make me committed to finishing this multichapter (I RECOGNIZE YOUR NAMES AND I SEE YOU AND I LOVE YOU). So I WILL finish it. I just wanted to be honest about what's getting in the way right now. Besides time, of course. Full-time work and family and house are a challenge of their own.  
> The good news is that I have a clear vision of what is going to happen in the next few chapters (I hope you'll like what's going to happen in France, ahem). I envision 5 to 8 chapters left. I hope those who have stuck with me through this novel-length fic will get what they hoped from this it! (ps: sorry for the guilt-tripping; do know this is simply an honest explanation).


	36. Truth Be Told

"Do you want to talk about the future?"

Hermione looked up from her book. She was sitting at the sofa, legs curled under her, a soft blanket keeping her warm. Her mum, pretty much in the same position on a plush seat close by, was looking at her with steady eyes.

"The... future?" Hermione repeated, slightly at a loss.

"Yes, the future, darling."

It was most definitely a loaded question. Hermione took the time to mark her progress in the book on her lap, slowly closing it and setting it aside as she prepared herself for the conversation they were about to have. Since her arrival and after the pleasantries were over, their talks had progressively turned more awkward and careful. Hermione was doing everything in her power to avoid any confrontations; this was likely the last time she would see her parents until they returned to England and she wanted their relationship to remain relatively stable.

"Uhm... what about it? And how far away into the future are you thinking? Tomorrow, when Ron arrives? Or next month, when I go back to Hogwarts? There is also Christmas, when you and Dad come back to England..."

Her mum laughed. "All of it."

In turn, Hermione let out a nervous chuckle. "Well, that's overwhelming. What do you want to know, then?"

"Nothing in particular. Everything. I want to know what you envision for what's to come for you, and what you might do after school."

"Oh, right. After school. Uhm..." Hermione tried to find something to say, but her mind was blank.

"It's all right if you don't know yet, you know?"

This time, she sighed in relief. "Thanks, Mum. Yes, I... I don't really know what I want to do after I'm done with school. Probably find something in the Ministry of Magic. Of course, it all depends on how I do in my N.E.W.T. levels, but if I do well on them, I would like to find something worthwhile; something that matters. That's why I need to go back to school, to have all options open."

"That certainly sounds like you," her mum said, with a soft smile. "I have to admit, though, that a part of me still had hopes you might want to make a career in our world..."

"Mum..."

"I know, I know. I'm trying. Tell me about how you're doing instead. Is the medicine working well?"

"The medicine?"

Medicine? The one she had stopped taking weeks ago with no supervision? The one her mum had been so optimistic about, when she first had gone to the doctor in Australia?

"Uhm," she began, while trying to gain some time by drinking a few sips of water. She had to decide: truth or lie, truth or lie. "They seem to be good for me," she said, without having made the conscious decision to lie.

"Great! I knew they would make a difference. No more panic attacks, then?"

"Oh, only one or two mild ones..." she added as she loosened her ponytail and tried to tame her hair into a braid. She wasn't going to think about those episodes, and how they had really been. Instead, she thought about how it  _ had _ been a while since the last one. So maybe it didn't really matter that she wasn't being forthcoming; it was only a small lie to avoid worrying her mum over nothing. And she  _ had _ gotten help, too, back then, when she saw the therapist.

"That's wonderful, dear." Hermione ignored the pang of guilt she felt at her mother's words. "And your sleeping? All good?"

_ My sleeping's fine, but that's because I sleep with Ron most nights _ , would have the honest answer, and another answer Hermione felt she couldn't share with her mother.

"It's... no problems, there," was all she said.

"Since we're talking about that, Ron will be sleeping in the sofa bed," her mum declared in a tone that allowed for no discussions. Not that Hermione would have tried to argued against it, anyway.

"Of course. He won't have a problem with that."

"So, what are Ron's plans for after school?"

"Ron's not going back to school; he doesn't need to. He's helping his brother with business; they've done pretty well over the summer. Also, in a few weeks he'll begin training to become an Auror-- a magical sort of Scotland Yard-- next month."

"So you'll be apart most of next year, then? Mmmh, I hope that doesn't change things."

Her tone had been wistful, so Hermione decided to let it go. If she wanted to keep the shaky truce with her parents, then she would need to be less defensive.

"It will be difficult," Hermione carefully said, "but we both plan to make it work. We're invested in our relationship."

"Of course you are! I don't mean to imply you're not, but long distance is very challenging."

"We know," she tried to say in a light tone, to prevent a discussion. "It's what we need to do, right now, to have the careers we want, so we'll get through it."

"That really does sound mature of you two. Being a couple sometimes means making sacrifices to the benefit of your future together."

Hermione let out a soft chuckle. "That's funny. Ron's mum told him yesterday that she thought he had matured, and now you're telling me you think we're mature for the choices we are making. In all honesty, to us it feels like we're doing what we must and hope for the best."

"Yes and, my darling, that is adulthood," said her mum, smiling.

Hermione didn't like to think that adulthood involved such levels of improvisation; adulthood surely was about learning how to keep up with all responsibilities in an efficient manner. She considered arguing the point but dropped it.

"And is being an Aur-- Auror, you said? Is it a good job? If it's like the police, then is it dangerous?"

Hermione shifted a bit in her place on the sofa. This was a topic she didn't like to think about.

"Well," she said, "it is a good job. He's always wanted to be an Auror, and he was offered a position after all we did during the war..."

"He was  _ offered _ a position?"

Hermione bristled a bit at the incredulity in her voice.  _ Don't be defensive _ , she reminded herself. "Uhm, yes, he was. Him and Harry and some others who fought against Voldemort."

"But you are all just teens!"

"Teens who demonstrated great abilities and courage! And he will have to complete training, too. Condensed, because there is a big need right now, to stop Voldemort's followers from fleeing or causing more trouble."

Hermione could have argued further but she bit her tongue.

"He's eighteen, this shouldn't be on him."

"Yes, he's eighteen, and so am I." She purposely tried to maintain a neutral tone. "Most people are expected to choose a career at eighteen. Muggles sometimes choose to go into police training, don't they? Ron is doing the same, that's all."

"All right, yes. I suppose you are right. It's only, you  _ are _ so young..."

"I know, mum. But sometimes, it's only young people who will step up to change the world."

Hermione's mum looked steadily at her, processing what she had said. She finally gave Hermione a nod, as if understanding.

"I hope he remains safe, then. For him, and for you, too."

"Me, too."

* * *

 

Ron was helping his mum to prepare dinner while she finished Ginny's cake. The birthday girl would arrive home any minute now, and they were trying to have everything ready by then.

From the sitting room, Ron heard his dad call George downstairs.

"George? Come down! Your sister's on her way!"

There was silence. Ron, even as he did the final touches on the food, paid attention to what was going on with George on the other room. If George didn't come down, Ron would have to go check on him; he had continued to spend long periods of time by himself, if a lot less, and Ron worried George might have dropped into one of his low moods while at home. George had indeed said that being at home seemed to trigger bad thoughts, after all.

"George?!" his dad called again.

"Yes, yes! No need to yell," George said as he came down the stairs. "I have a perfectly good ear, you know?"

Ron smirked to himself, his chest lightening. That was a classic George quip, one that felt like a balm to Ron's worries.

George had barely made it to the ground floor when Ginny came through the Floo Network.

"Here you are!" Ron's dad exclaimed. "Happy birthday!"

"Happy birthday!" everyone else exclaimed from where they were.

"Ron, dear," his mum said from his side, where she was working on the icing decorations. "Will you do something for me?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"We told Gin we got her something special this year, which of course was a bad idea. She has been looking around for it ever since we mentioned it. I hid it in the shed, behind the case where your dad stores the Muggle mechanical pieces he doesn't want me to see."

Ron cut a glance to his mum, who guessed what he was thinking.

"Yes, I know about those pieces," she smirked. "Anyway, can you please get it for me? It's a broom," she added in a soft voice, as if wanting to prolong the mystery for anyone who happened to be listening in.

"All right," he said, with a smile of his own.

He went to the sitting room to give Ginny a quick hug, before returning to the kitchen on his way out.

The night was a bit chilly for August, the change in temperature from the warm indoors giving him goose flesh. He walked fast toward the shed, ready to go back inside. He considered using a spell to warm up, but it was a bit of overkill for only a couple of minutes in the...

There was a noise in the shed. It hadn't been too loud; Ron wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't been this close. It had been isolated, no more noises disrupting the quiet night. Ron, frozen in place as he studied the situation, reached for his wand, stealing a quick look back to the house. He didn't want to alarm everyone, so he decided not to  call for help until he knew what was happening. The wards were still in place around The Burrow, so chances were the place was still safe. He readied to defend or attack as necessary.

Ron knew the door would creak and that trying to open it slower wouldn't work. He had to rely on surprising whoever was there, if anyone was. It could be a confused gnome at best, a reporter if he was out of luck or, worse, a dark wizard. Senses on high alert, he came close to the door, adopted a fight stance, and pushed it open with a slam.

"Expeliarmus!" he intoned, just in case someone was there.

"Shit! It's me! Protego!"

A scramble of metal and wood against the floor-- and Harry holding his wand in one hand, the other one facing Ron, palm out in a gesture of well-meaning intentions.

"Harry?!" Ron exclaimed. "What in bloody hell are you doing here, hiding like a criminal?"

"Hiding like a criminal, hoping no one would find me before I was ready to go inside."

Ron abandoned the pose, coming into the shed.

"I'd've thought you would have reacted better to a surprise attack, mate. You're in Auror training."

"Hey, I'm in a safe place. Or I was, until you came in. Apparently, constant vigilance is not a good strategy, according to some trainers."

Ron scoffed.

"Also," Harry continued, "you should know that you would lose points for not asking me a security question. What if I'm impersonating me?" Harry wrinkled is nose and closed an eye as he reviewed what he had said, and how inarticulate it was. "You know what I mean."

"Where did we brew the Polyjuice Potion during second year?" Ron asked, eyes squinting but smiling.

"Hermione brewed the potion in Myrtle's bathroom. We mostly kept her company."

Ron nodded in agreement before going around the work table at the centre of it, towards the gift's location.

"Anyway," Ron said, "what are you doing here? The party's inside."

Ron reached around the case and grabbed the wrapped broom.

"Uhm, well... Ginny thought it'd be best if we didn't arrive together. So I apparated here to wait for a little while."

Ron looked at his friend, puzzled.

"Why?"

"Errr... because they didn't know that we went out together... to have a... private birthday celebration..."

"What does that--" Ron only noticed his face had been scrunched up when it relaxed into a careful, blank state. "I don't want to know, do I?"

The one reprieve was that Harry looked uncomfortable and a little concerned. It made Ron feel better that his friend still cared about his opinion.

Ron shook his head. "What I don't understand is why I always end up hearing about it when you two do these things."

Harry snorted. "As if. Not even one in ten, mate." Then Harry adopted a contrite face when he realised what he had said.

This time, Ron groaned.

"I..." Ron began, but decided against it. "Forget it, let's go inside."

Ron turned to go out of the shed, but Harry stopped him.

"Wait, you're not gonna say anything?"

Ron turned to Harry again. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know, your usual? Oh, you better be treating her right, stuff like that."

"Why, aren't you treating her nice?"

"Of course I am!"

"Then why do you need me to remind you of this?"

"I don't need you to remind me!"

"Then we're good."

"Yeah!"

"Alright, then" Ron said, opening his eyes with exaggerated annoyance. "Let's go ins--"

"I love her, Ron."

Ron's senses sharpened, shock mixing with discomfort. Harry looked like he didn't really fancy this conversation either, and yet he persisted.

"I know... I mean, I..." Harry messed up his hair with a hand, then fixed his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "I want you to know that. I love Ginny."

"Why do you want me know?" Ron asked, his voice steady, surprising himself with how calm he sounded.

"Because you're my best friend," Harry said with a mixture of conviction and resignation, as if he didn't want to be saying these things out loud. "Because I'm dating your sister. I want you to know it's serious between us."

Ron's hand went up to rub on his neck, going tenser by the second.

"Does she know?"

"Does she know, what?"

"That you love her."

"Of course! She was the first to know."

"All right," Ron said, at a loss of what to else to add.

Silence stretched between them. Ron was considering to turn to go back home, when Harry spoke again.

"So... you don't have to keep warning me I should be good to her. I...  _ want _ to be good to her."

Ron struggled for a moment with how to answer, finally giving up and choosing to say exactly what was on his mind.

"Fine, okay-- I get it. I know why you broke up with her last year and I know that she wouldn't have taken you back if she wasn't okay with that. I also know... I knew you care for her. I just... I don't like to think of those things where she's involved. Or where you're involved, to be honest. All I know is I do care that she is happy just as much as I care you are. That's the only reason I've been giving you a bit of a hard time. But I-- I trust you, of course I do."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Do you think it's any easier for me? My two best friends are dating and--"

"Dating? I'm not d _ ating  _ her. I love her. Hermione, I mean," Ron added, because it felt like it was important to reciprocate Harry's sharing. "And I think... I think she loves me. She's told me as much."

Saying it out loud like that filled his stomach with butterflies, his eyes open in wonder.

Harry smiled. "I know."

"And I--"

"What's going on in here?"

Ron's head whipped to the shed's door, where his mum had appeared.

"Nothing!" Ron and Harry said.

"We are waiting for you. Hi, Harry, dear. C'mon, let's go. Bring the gift, Ron."

His mum turned to walked away, fully expecting them to follow. Ron and Harry looked at each other, hesitating. Then they smiled, self-conscious and happy over the things they had confessed.

"You were planning to talk to me about this, weren't you?" Ron asked.

"Yeah. I've been meaning to tell you for ages."

Ron rested an arm over Harry's shoulders and they began walking together back home.

* * *

 

The party didn't last long. It had only been family, eating together, then sitting while Ginny opened her gifts. Harry, undoubtedly knowing about the broom, had given Ginny a full set of quidditch robes and a broom maintenance kit. Ginny had been so happy about these gifts, stating she couldn't wait to practice, that Ron couldn't be offended that she didn't seem to like his and Hermione's gift quite as much. He didn't blame her, though. Had it been him, those gifts would have been his favourite, too. Ron and Hermione had given her tickets for a Weird Sisters' concert; when Ron left The Burrow, she and Harry had been talking about whether they wanted to attend the concert in disguise, so as to not being recognized. Ron's last image of Ginny was her laughter at Harry, after she had tried a glamour charm on him that included a long, black beard and an up-turned nose.

Now Ron was in Hermione's house, waiting for her call, smiling at the memory. He sat on the sofa besides the phone, stretching his long limbs. He sighed as he got more comfortable, smiling when the phone rang.

"Hey," Ron said.

"Hi, Ron," her voice greeted him through the handset. And they began talking about their day, as seamlessly as if they had been talking for hours.

"...then my mum asked me to go get Ginny's gift from the shed-- she'd had to hide it there because Ginny had been snooping around. But guess what, Harry was there," Ron was saying.

"He was in the shed? Alone? Why?"

"Well," Ron began, "he was hiding there so that my parents wouldn't put two and two together, and know they had spent two hours by themselves before dinner."

"Oh," she said in a tone that told Ron she understood.

"Yeah," Ron confirmed. "He... he told me he loves her."

"He did?!" her voice was more enthusiastic than he had expected. "That's lovely!"

He supposed it was. He smiled. "Yes, it is."

"It is! Two of our favourite people are together and love each other."

"You've wanted them to be together for a long time, haven't you?"

"I have wanted them to be happy for a long time. And they both were that for each other."

"Hermione," Ron said, "are you a romantic at heart?"

She laughed. "Perhaps I am."

They were in silence for a moment.

"I told him that I love you," Ron said in a half-whisper.

"You did?" She asked in the same tone.

"Yeah. I couldn't be any less, could I?"

"I can imagine the two of you being awkward about it, but I still think it's sweet."

"Hell yeah we were awkward," Ron laughed. "We don't really talk about these things. Harry basically said he wanted me to stop telling him to be good to her, and to think of them as a long-term item."

"He must have been thinking about it for a while, then. Or it was really bothering him that you were questioning his intentions."

"I wasn't questioning his intentions! Not now, anyway. I was just... is it so weird that I don't want to think of my sister like that? and Harry, well... it's Harry."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Ron laughed. "I think it means he's like a brother to me so it makes it weird. You've got to admit it's rather convenient we all ended up together."

"You only feel that way because it's Ginny."

"Perhaps," he admitted. "Still. I'm glad we talked, as uncomfortable as it was."

"I don't get it. Why would it be uncomfortable? You're best friends!"

"I don't know! We never talked like that, it's all. I could never tell him I had a massive crush on you, right? And he could never tell me about having a crush on my sister. I think we just never felt all right about talking to each other about it. He told us about Cho when we were all together and you never told us about Krum and me and Lav, well, we... you know."

"Right," Hermione said.

"Right."

"Well, if you and I plan to be together for the long term and they do, too, then I would recommend you get used to the idea. Being able to talk about it would be a plus."

"Ha, ha, very funny."

She laughed. "All right, then, I'll change the subject. Are you ready for tomorrow?"

* * *

 

Yes, he was. He was also very, very nervous.

He was leaving from The Burrow, to give his mum a sense of being included; he hoped it helped her feel less combative about the whole thing. He gave his mum a hug and took his bag, stepping into the fireplace, hoping she wouldn't make a fuss. She didn't. He Floo-ed to the Ministry, where his dad was waiting for him.

With a pat on his shoulder, Ron's dad led him to the office from which his first Portkey was set to depart. They crossed the door into the office, to be met with a desk a short distance from the entrance, a surly witch sitting behind it. Behind her sat a big, circular rug with a tall circular table at its centre.

The clerk asked for Ron's travel permit, which she checked by touching it with the tip of her wand; blue sparkles erupted from its tip.

"Wand," she said, bored, extending her hand to him.

Ron gave it to her, trying to ignore the way his fingers shook. He saw her touch his wand with her own, then reach with her wand to his hand and then to his permit again. Green light shone from it this time.

"You're set. Your wand now is linked to your information," she droned. Ron tried to pay close attention. "We recommend you avoid losing or replacing your wand while abroad. If you miss a Portkey, your wand will become traceable and we will reach out to you. If we cannot contact you, a warrant will be put out for you."

"It's to prevent Dark Wizards from escaping the country and disappearing off the radar," his dad's voice whispered behind him.

"There are three Portkeys on the way there, two for the first part of the return, and one for the last. If you need to change dates or update your permit in any way, you need to contact the local Ministry of Magic. This is a list of addresses for the countries you will be stopping in," the witch said, handing over a piece of parchment.

"Countries...?" Ron's dad began to ask, but Ron folded the parchment and put it in his pocket.

"So what's my first Portkey?" Ron added, so as to not give his dad time to ask any further.

"It's in the back, on the table. It is set for..." she checked her watch, "for four minutes from now."

"Thanks," Ron said, and turned to his dad. "All right, I'm going, then."

"Good luck, Ron. Enjoy your trip, be good, and learn a lot."

"I will, dad."

They hugged. Ron bent to pick up his bag from the floor, and stepped around the desk to the rug.

The trip was a dizzying whirlwind; he barely registered the two stops before he made it to his final destination. He fought to gain his footing as soon as the last cyclonic stage of travel was done, closing his eyes in the hope to contain the queasiness in his stomach. It took him a few seconds, but he found his ground again.

"Documents," a wizard with an accent said.

Ron gave his paperwork to him, who touched it with his wand and gave it back.

"Welcome to Australia," he said, and indicated the way out of the office with a careless flip of the hand.

Ron stepped out of the office and, not two seconds after he had closed the door behind him, he felt two arms loop around his neck. He dropped his bag, which fell to the floor with an airy  _ whooft _ . His arms went around her waist and he bent his head down to nuzzle at her hair.

"Why don't you kiss me and we make this into a pattern," he suggested. She pulled back only enough to look up at him. "You jump at me and kiss me. Thoughts?"

She laughed and reached up to his mouth, lips to lips. "All right, deal." She stepped backwards as he bent down to pick his bag.

When he straightened up, he saw she was offering a hand to him.

"Ready to go meet my parents?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES, your eyes are not deceiving you-- there is a new chapter up! I'm sorry it's taken so long, and that this chapter is about 1k shorter than average. The good news is that I mapped the next few chapters and there should be only four chapters left! The bad news is that I'm the busiest I've ever been with adulting and work and studies, so I don't know how long it'll take me to write those four chapters. I'm really hoping that having written down the structure of what's left of this story will help, so please hang in there! I promised I would finish this story AND I WILL. I really appreciate you are still following this fic (or still waiting for this story to end to binge read it all; I know some of you are out there), and I thank you for sticking with me through this. Ok, I'll end now before I get sappy. I hope you liked this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> If you have enjoyed this story so far, please consider leaving me a note. I write to feed my feels, in the hopes it will give the feels to my readers as well. If I wrote only for my own amusement, I wouldn't be publishing my writing, would I? Reviews and comments are my reward... and rewards are addictive...


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